F  A  L  K 


F  A  L  K 

AMY  FOSTER 
TO-MORROW 

THREE  STORIES 

BY 

JOSEPH  CONRAD 


Garden  Citt  New  York 

DOUBLEDAY.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1919 


COPYUCXT,  1909,  BT 
DOUBLKDAT,  FAOB  *  COMBAVT 


ETNCLfSM  f 


6^  ri. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Falk 1 

Amy  Foster 153 

to-morbow.     ,     , 215 


^■45417 


FALK 

A   REMINISCENCE 


FALK 
A   REMINISCENCE 

Several  of  us,  all  more  or  less  connected  with  the 
sea,  were  dining  in  a  small  river-hostelry  not  more 
than  thirty  miles  from  London,  and  less  than  twenty 
from  that  shallow  and  dangerous  puddle  to  which 
cur  coasting  men  give  the  grandiose  name  of  "  Ger- 
man Ocean."  And  through  the  wide  windows  we 
had  a  view  of  the  Thames ;  an  enfilading  view  down 
the  Lower  Hope  Reach.  But  the  dinner  was  exe- 
crable, and  all  the  feast  was  for  the  eyes. 

That  flavour  of  salt-water  which  for  so  many  of 
us  had  been  the  very  water  of  life  permeated  our 
talk.  He  who  hath  known  the  bitterness  of  the 
Ocean  shall  have  its  taste  forever  in  his  mouth.  But 
one  or  two  of  us,  pampered  by  the  life  of  the  land, 
complained  of  hunger.  It  was  impossible  to  swal- 
low any  of  that  stuff.  And  indeed  there  was  a 
itrange  mustiness  in  everything.  The  wooden  din- 
ing-room stuck  out  over  the  mud  of  the  shore  like 
[8] 


FALK 

B,  lacustrine  dwelling ;  the  planks  of  the  floor  seemed 
rotten ;  a  decrepid  old  waiter  tottered  pathetically 
to  and  fro  before  an  antediluvian  and  worm-eaten 
sideboard ;  the  chipped  plates  might  have  been  dis- 
interred from  some  kitchen  midden  near  an  inhab- 
ited lake ;  and  the  chops  recalled  times  more  ancient 
still.  They  brought  forcibly  to  one's  mind  the 
night  of  ages  when  the  primeval  man,  evolving  the 
first  rudiments  of  cookery  from  his  dim  conscious- 
ness, scorched  lumps  of  flesh  at  a  fire  of  sticks  in  the 
company  of  other  good  fellows;  then,  gorged  and 
happy,  sat  him  back  among  the  gnawed  bones  to 
tell  his  artless  tales  of  experience — the  tales  of  hun- 
ger and  hunt — and  of  women,  perhaps  ! 

But  luckily  the  wine  happened  to  be  as  old  as 
the  waiter.  So,  comparativel}'  empty,  but  upon  the 
whole  fairly  happy,  we  sat  back  and  told  our  artless 
tales.  We  talked  of  the  sea  and  all  its  works.  The 
sea  never  changes,  and  its  works  for  all  the  talk  of 
men  are  wrapped  in  mystery-.  But  we  agreed  that 
the  times  were  changed.  And  we  talked  of  old 
ships,  of  sea-accidents,  of  break-downs,  dismast- 
ings ;  and  of  a  man  who  brouglit  his  ship  safe  to 
Liverpool  all  tlie  way  from  the  River  Platte  under 
[4  J 


P  A  T.  K 

a  jury  rudder.  We  talked  of  wrecks,  of  short  ra- 
tions and  of  heroism — or  at  least  of  what  the  news- 
papers would  have  called  hei'oism  at  sea — a  mani- 
festation of  virtues  quite  different  from  the  heroism 
of  primitive  times.  And  now  and  then  falling  silent 
all  together  we  gazed  at  the  sights  of  the  river. 

A  P.  &  O.  boat  passed  bound  down.  "  One  gets 
jolly  good  dinners  on  board  these  ships,"  remarked 
one  of  our  band.  A  man  with  sharp  eyes  read  out 
the  name  on  her  bows:  Arcadia.  "What  a  beauti- 
ful model  of  a  ship !  "  murmured  some  of  us.  Slic 
was  followed  by  a  small  cargo  steamer,  and  the  flag 
they  hauled  down  aboard  while  we  were  looking 
showed  her  to  be  a  Norwegian.  She  made  an  awful 
lot  of  smoke ;  and  before  it  had  quite  blown  away,  a 
high-sided,  short,  wooden  barque,  in  ballast  and 
towed  by  a  paddle-tug,  appeared  in  front  of  the 
windows.  All  lier  hands  were  forward  busy  setting 
up  the  headgear ;  and  aft  a  woman  in  a  red  hood, 
quite  alone  with  the  man  at  the  wheel,  paced  the 
length  of  the  poop  back  and  forth,  with  the  grey 
wool  of  some  knitting  work  in  her  hands. 

"  German  I  should  think,"  muttered  one.  "  The 
skipper  has  his  wife  on  board,"  remarked  another; 
[5] 


PALK 

and  the  light  of  the  crimson  sunset  all  ablaze  behind 
the  London  smoke,  throwing  a  glow  of  Bengal  light 
upon  the  barque's  spars,  faded  away  from  the  Hope 
Reach. 

Then  one  of  us,  who  had  not  spoken  before,  a 
man  of  over  fifty,  that  had  commanded  ships  for  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  looking  after  the  barque  now 
gliding  far  away,  all  black  on  the  lustre  of  the  river, 
said: 

This  reminds  me  of  an  absurd  episode  in  my  life, 
now  many  years  ago,  when  I  got  first  the  command 
of  an  iron  barque,  loading  then  in  a  certain  Eastern 
seaport.  It  was  also  the  capital  of  an  Eastern  king- 
dom, lying  up  a  river  as  might  be  London  lies  up 
this  old  Thames  of  ours.  No  more  need  be  said  of 
the  place;  for  this  sort  of  thing  might  have  hap- 
pened anywhere  where  there  are  ships,  skippers, 
tugboats,  and  orphan  nieces  of  indescribable  splen- 
dour. And  the  absurdity  of  the  episode  concerns 
only  me,  my  enemy  Falk,  and  my  friend  Hermann. 

There  seemed  to  be  something  like  peculiar  em- 
phasis on  the  words  "  My  friend  Hermann,"  which 
caused  one  of  us  (for  we  had  just  been  speaking  of 
heroism  at  sea)  to  say  idly  and  nonchalantly: 
[6] 


FALK 

**  And  was  this  Hermann  a  hero  ?  " 

Not  at  all,  said  our  grizzled  friend.  No  hero  at 
all.  He  was  a  Schiff-f iihrer :  Ship-conductor. 
That's  how  they  call  a  Master  Mariner  in  Germany. 
I  prefer  our  way.  The  alliteration  is  good,  and 
there  is  something  in  the  nomenclature  that  gives 
to  us  as  a  body  the  sense  of  corporate  existence: 
Apprentice,  Mate,  Master,  in  the  ancient  and  hon- 
ourable craft  of  the  sea.  As  to  my  friend  Hermann, 
he  might  have  been  a  consummate  master  of  the 
honourable  craft,  but  he  was  called  officially  Schiff- 
fiihrer,  and  had  the  simple,  heavy  appearance  of  a 
well-to-do  farmer,  combined  with  the  good-natured 
shrewdness  of  a  small  shopkeeper.  With  his  shaven 
chin,  round  limbs,  and  heavy  eyelids  he  did  not  look 
like  a  toiler,  and  even  less  like  an  adventurer  of  the 
sea.  Still,  he  toiled  upon  the  seas,  in  his  own  way, 
much  as  a  shopkeeper  works  behind  his  counter. 
And  his  ship  was  the  means  by  which  he  maintained 
his  growing  family. 

She  was  a  heavy,  strong,  blunt-bowed  affair, 
awakening  the  ideas  of  primitive  solidity,  like  the 
wooden  plough  of  our  forefathers.  And  there  were, 
about  her,  other  suggestions  of  a  rustic  and  homely 


TALK 

nature.  The  extraordinary  timber  projections 
which  I  haA-e  seen  in  no  other  vessel  made  her  square 
stem  resemble  the  tail  end  of  a  miller's  waggon. 
But  the  four  stern  ports  of  her  cabin,  gkzed  with 
six  little  greenish  panes  each,  and  framed  in  wooden 
sashes  painted  brown,  might  have  been  the  windows 
of  a  cottage  in  the  country.  The  tiny  white  cur- 
tains and  the  greenery  of  flower  pots  behind  the 
glass  completed  the  resemblance.  On  one  or  two 
occasions  when  passing  under  her  stern  I  had  de- 
tected from  my  boat  a  round  arm  in  the  act  of  tilt- 
ing a  watering  pot.  and  the  bowed  sleek  head  of  a 
maiden  whom  I  shall  always  call  Hermann's  niece, 
because  as  a  matter  of  fact  I've  never  heard  her 
name,  for  all  my  intimacy  with  the  family. 

This,  however,  sprang  up  later  on.  Meantime  in 
common  with  the  rest  of  the  shipping  in  that  East- 
em  port,  I  was  left  in  no  doubt  as  to  Hermann's  no- 
tions of  hygienic  clothing.  Evidently  he  believed 
in  wearing  good  stout  flannel  next  his  skin.  On 
most  days  little  frocks  and  pinafores  could  be  seen 
drying  in  the  mizzen  rigging  of  his  ship,  or  a  tiny 
row  of  socks  fluttering  on  the  signal  halyards ;  but 
once  a  fortnight  the  family  washing  was  exhibited 
[8] 


FALK 

in  force.  It  covered  the  poop  entirely.  The  after- 
noon breeze  would  incite  to  a  weird  and  flabby  activ- 
ity all  that  crowded  mass  of  clothing,  with  its  vague 
suggestions  of  drowned,  mutilated  and  flattened  hu- 
manity. Trunks  without  heads  waved  at  you  arms 
without  hands;  legs  without  feet  kicked  fantasti- 
cally with  collapsible  flourishes ;  and  there  were  long 
white  garments  that,  taking  the  wind  fairly 
through  their  neck  openings  edged  with  lace,  be- 
came for  a  moment  violently  distended  as  by  the 
passage  of  obese  and  invisible  bodies.  On  these  days 
3'ou  could  make  out  that  ship  at  a  great  distance 
by  the  multi-coloured  grotesque  riot  going  on  abaft 
her  mizzen  mast. 

She  had  her  berth  just  ahead  of  me,  and  her 
name  was  Diana, — Diana  not  of  Ephesus  but  of 
Bremen.  This  was  proclaimed  in  white  letters  a 
foot  long  spaced  widely  across  the  stern  (somewhat 
like  the  lettering  of  a  shop-sign)  under  the  cottage 
windows.  This  ridiculously  unsuitable  name  struck 
one  as  an  impertinence  towards  the  memory  of  the 
most  charming  of  goddesses;  for,  apart  from  the 
fact  that  the  old  craft  was  physically  incapable  of 
engaging  in  any  sort  of  chase,  there  was  a  gang  of 
[9] 


FALK 

four  children  belonging  to  her.  They  peeped  over 
the  rail  at  passing  boats  and  occasionally  dropped 
various  objects  into  them.  Thus,  sometime  before 
I  knew  Hermann  to  speak  to,  I  received  on  my  hat 
a  horrid  rag-doll  belonging  to  Hermann's  eldest 
daughter.  However,  these  youngsters  were  upon 
the  whole  well  behaved.  They  had  fair  heads,  round 
eyes,  round  little  knobby  noses,  and  they  resembled 
their  father  a  good  deal. 

This  Diana  of  Bremen  was  a  most  innocent  old 
ship,  and  seemed  to  know  nothing  of  the  wicked  sea, 
as  there  are  on  shore  households  that  know  nothing 
of  the  corrupt  world.  And  the  sentiments  she  sug- 
gested were  unexceptionable  and  mainly  of  a  do- 
mestic order.  She  was  a  home.  All  these  dear  chil- 
dren had  learned  to  walk  on  her  roomy  quarter-deck. 
In  such  thoughts  there  is  something  pretty,  even 
touching.  Their  teeth,  I  should  judge,  they  had 
cut  on  the  ends  of  her  running  gear.  I  have  many 
times  observed  the  baby  Hermann  (Nicholas)  en- 
gaged in  gnawing  the  whipping  of  the  fore-royal 
brace,  Nicholas'  favourite  place  of  residence  was 
under  the  main  fife-rail.  Directly  he  was  let  loose 
he  would  crawl  off  there,  and  the  first  seaman  who 
[10] 


FALK 

came  along  would  bring  him,  carefully  held  aloft 
in  tarry  hands,  back  to  the  cabin  door.  I  fancy 
there  must  have  been  a  standing  order  to  that  effect. 
In  the  course  of  these  transportations  the  baby, 
who  was  the  only  peppery  person  in  the  ship,  tried 
to  smite  these  stalwart  young  German  sailors  on  the 
face. 

Mrs.  Hermann,  an  engaging,  stout  housewife, 
wore  on  board  baggy  blue  dresses  with  white  dots. 
When,  as  happened  once  or  twice  I  caught  her  at  an 
elegant  little  wash-tub  rubbing  hard  on  white  col- 
lars, baby's  socks,  and  Hermann's  summer  neck- 
ties, she  would  blush  in  girlish  confusion,  and  rais- 
ing her  wet  hands  greet  me  from  afar  with  many 
friendly  nods.  Her  sleeves  would  be  rolled  up  to 
the  elbows,  and  the  gold  hoop  of  her  wedding  ring 
glittered  among  the  soapsuds.  Her  voice  was 
pleasant,  she  had  a  serene  brow,  smooth  bands  of 
very  fair  hair,  and  a  good-humoured  expression  of 
the  eyes.  She  was  motherly  and  moderately  talka- 
tive. When  this  simple  matron  smiled,  youthful 
dimples  broke  out  on  her  fresh  broad  cheeks.  Her- 
mann's niece  on  the  other  hand,  an  orphan  and  very 
silent,  I  never  saw  attempt  a  smile.    This,  however, 

[11] 


FALK 

was  not  gloom  on  her  part  but  the  restraint  of 
youthful  gravity. 

They  had  carried  her  about  with  them  for  the 
last  three  years,  to  help  with  the  children  and  be 
company  for  Mrs.  Hermann,  as  Hermann  men- 
tioned once  to  me.  It  had  been  very  necessary  while 
they  were  all  little,  he  had  added  in  a  vexed  manner. 
It  was  her  arm  and  her  sleek  head  that  I  had 
glimpsed  one  morning,  through  the  stern-windows 
of  the  cabin,  hovering  over  the  pots  of  fuchsias  and 
mignonette ;  but  the  first  time  I  beheld  her  full 
length  I  surrendered  to  her  propoitions.  They  fix 
her  in  my  mind,  as  great  beauty,  great  intelligence, 
quickness  of  wit  or  kindness  of  heart  might  have 
made  some  other  woman  equally  memorable. 

With  her  it  was  form  and  size.  It  was  her  physi- 
cal personality  that  had  this  imposing  charm.  She 
might  have  been  witty,  intelligent,  and  kind  to  an 
exceptional  degree.  I  don't  know,  and  this  is  not  to 
the  point.  All  I  know  is  that  she  was  built  on  a 
magnificent  scale.  Built  is  the  only  word.  She  was 
constructed,  she  was  erected,  as  it  were,  with  a  regal 
lavishness.  It  staggered  you  to  see  this  reckless  ex- 
penditure of  material  upon  a  chit  of  a  girl.  She 
[12] 


FALK 

was  youthful  and  also  perfectly  mature,  as  though 
she  had  been  some  fortunate  immortal.  She  was 
heavy  too,  perhaps,  but  that's  nothing.  It  only 
added  to  that  notion  of  permanence.  She  was  bare- 
ly nineteen.  But  such  shoulders !  Such  round 
arms !  Such  a  shadowing  forth  of  mighty  limbs 
when  with  three  long  strides  she  pounced  across  the 
deck  upon  the  overturned  Nicholas — it's  perfectly 
indescribable !  She  seemed  a  good,  quiet  girl,  vigi- 
lant as  to  Lena's  needs,  Gustav's  tumbles,  the  state 
of  Carl's  dear  little  nose — conscientious,  hardwork- 
ing, and  all  that.  But  what  magnificent  hair  she 
had!  Abundant,  long,  thick,  of  a  tawny  colour. 
It  had  the  sheen  of  precious  metals.  She  wore  it 
plaited  tightly  into  one  single  tress  hanging  girl- 
ishly down  her  back  and  its  end  reached  down  to 
her  waist.  The  massiveness  of  it  surprised  you. 
On  my  word  it  reminded  one  of  a  club.  Her  face 
was  big,  comely,  of  an  unruffled  expression.  She 
had  a  good  complexion,  and  her  blue  eyes  were  so 
pale  that  she  appeared  to  look  at  the  world  with 
the  empty  white  candour  of  a  statue.  You  could 
not  call  her  good-looking.  It  was  something  much 
more  impressive.  The  simplicity  of  her  apparel, 
[13] 


FALK 

the  opulence  of  her  form,  her  imposing  stature, 
and  the  extraordinary  sense  of  vigorous  life  that 
seemed  to  emanate  from  her  like  a  perfume  exhaled 
by  a  flower,  made  her  beautiful  with  a  beauty  of  a 
rustic  and  olympian  order.  To  watch  her  reaching 
up  to  the  clothes-Hne  with  both  arms  raised  high 
above  her  head,  caused  you  to  fall  a  musing  in  a 
strain  of  pagan  piety.  Excellent  Mrs.  Hermann's 
baggy  cotton  gowns  had  some  sort  of  rudimentary 
frills  at  neck  and  bottom,  but  this  girl's  print  frocks 
hadn't  even  a  wrinkle ;  nothing  but  a  few  straight 
folds  in  the  skirt  falling  to  her  feet,  and  these,  when 
she  stood  still,  had  a  severe  and  statuesque  quality. 
She  was  inclined  naturally  to  be  still  whether  sit- 
ting or  standing.  However,  I  don't  mean  to  say 
she  was  statuesque.  She  was  too  generously  alive; 
but  she  could  have  stood  for  an  allegoric  statue  of 
the  Earth.  I  don't  mean  the  worn-out  earth  of  our 
possession,  but  a  3'oung  Earth,  a  virginal  planet 
undisturbed  by  the  vision  of  a  future  teeming  with 
the  monstrous  forms  of  life  and  death,  clamorous 
with  the  cruel  battles  of  hunger  and  thought. 

The  worthy  Hermann  liimself  was  not  very  en- 
tertaining, though  his  English  was  fairly  compre- 
[U] 


FALK 
hensible.  Mrs.  Hermann,  who  always  let  off  one 
speech  at  least  at  me  in  an  hospitable,  cordial  tone 
(and  in  Platt-Deutsch  I  suppose)  I  could  not  un- 
derstand. As  to  their  niece,  however  satisfactory 
to  look  upon  (and  she  inspired  you  somehow  with 
a  hopeful  view  as  to  the  prospects  of  mankind) 
she  was  a  modest  and  silent  presence,  mostly  en- 
gaged in  sewing,  only  now  and  then,  as  I  observed, 
falling  over  that  work  into  a  state  of  maidenly 
meditation.  Her  aunt  sat  opposite  her,  sewing  also, 
with  her  feet  propped  on  a  wooden  footstool.  On 
the  other  side  of  the  deck  Hermann  and  I  would 
get  a  couple  of  chairs  out  of  the  cabin  and  settle 
down  to  a  smoking  match,  accompanied  at  long  in- 
tervals by  the  pacific  exchange  of  a  few  words.  I 
came  nearly  every  evening.  Hermann  I  would  find 
in  his  shirt  sleeves.  As  soon  as  he  returned  from 
the  shore  on  board  his  ship  he  commenced  operations 
by  taking  off  his  coat ;  then  he  put  on  his  head  an 
embroidered  round  cap  with  a  tassel,  and  changed 
his  boots  for  a  pair  of  cloth  slippers.  Afterwards 
he  smoked  at  the  cabin-door,  looking  at  his  children 
with  an  air  of  civic  virtue,  till  they  got  caught  one 
after  another  and  put  to  bed  In  various  staterooms. 
[16] 


PALK 

Lastly,  we  would  drink  some  beer  in  the  cabin,  which 
was  furnished  with  a  wooden  table  on  cross  legs,  and 
with  black  straight-backed  chairs — more  like  a  farm 
kitchen  than  a  ship's  cuddy.  The  sea  and  all  nauti- 
cal affairs  seemed  very  far  removed  from  the  hos- 
pitality of  this  exemplary  family. 

And  I  liktd  this  because  I  had  a  rather  worrying 
time  on  board  my  own  ship.  I  had  been  appointed 
ex-officio  by  the  British  Consul  to  take  charge  of 
her  after  a  man  who  had  died  suddenly,  leaving  for 
the  guidance  of  his  successor  some  suspiciously  un- 
receipted bills,  a  few  dry-dock  estimates  hinting  at 
bribery,  and  a  quantity  of  vouchers  for  three  years' 
extravagant  expenditure;  all  these  mixed  up  to- 
gether in  a  dusty  old  violin-case  lined  with  ruby 
velvet.  I  found  besides  a  large  account-book, 
which,  when  opened,  hopefully  turned  out  to  my 
infinite  consternation  to  be  filled  with  verses — page 
after  page  of  rhymed  doggerel  of  a  jovial  and  im- 
proper character,  written  in  the  neatest  minute  hand 
I  ever  did  see.  In  the  same  fiddle-case  a  photograph 
of  my  predecessor,  taken  lately  in  Saigon,  repre- 
sented in  front  of  a  garden  view,  and  in  company 
of  a  female  in  strange  draperies,  an  elderly,  squat, 
[16] 


FALK 

rugged  man  of  stern  aspect  In  a  clumsy  suit  of  black 
broadcloth,  and  with  the  hair  brushed  forward  above 
the  temples  in  a  manner  reminding  one  of  a  boar's 
tusks.  Of  a  fiddle,  however,  the  only  trace  on  board 
was  the  case,  its  empty  husk  as  it  were ;  but  of  the 
two  last  freights  the  ship  had  indubitably  earned 
of  late,  there  were  not  even  the  husks  left.  It  was 
impossible  to  say  where  all  that  money  had  gone  to. 
It  wasn't  on  board.  It  had  not  been  remitted  home ; 
for  a  letter  from  the  o\\'ners,  preserved  in  a  desk 
evidently  by  the  merest  accident,  complained  mildly 
enough  that  they  had  not  been  favoured  by  a 
scratch  of  the  pen  for  the  last  eighteen  months. 
There  were  next  to  no  stores  on  board,  not  an  inch 
of  spare  rope  or  a  yard  of  canvas.  The  ship  had 
been  run  bare,  and  I  foresaw  no  end  of  difficulties 
before  I  could  get  her  ready  for  sea. 

As  I  was  young  then — not  thirty  yet — I  took 
myself  and  my  troubles  verj"^  seriously.  The  old 
mate,  who  had  acted  as  chief  mourner  at  the  cap- 
tain's funeral,  was  not  particularly  pleased  at  my 
coming.  But  the  fact  is  the  fellow  was  not  legally 
qualified  for  command,  and  the  Consul  was  bound, 
if  at  all  possible,  to  put  a  properly  certificated  man 
[17] 


FALK 
on  board.  As  to  the  second  mate,  all  I  can  say  liis 
name  was  Tottersen,  or  something  like  that.  His 
practice  was  to  wear  on  his  head,  in  that  tropical 
climate,  a  mangy  fur  cap.  He  was,  without  excep- 
tion, the  stupidest  man  I  had  ever  seen  on  board 
ship.  And  he  looked  it  too.  He  looked  so  con- 
foundedly stupid  that  it  was  a  matter  of  surprise 
for  me  when  he  answered  to  his  name. 

I  drew  no  great  comfort  from  their  company,  to 
say  the  least  of  it;  while  the  prospect  of  making  a 
long  sea  passage  with  those  two  fellows  was  depress- 
ing. And  my  other  thoughts  in  solitude  could  not 
be  of  a  gay  complexion.  The  crew  was  sickly,  the 
cargo  was  coming  very  slow ;  I  foresaw  I  would 
have  lots  of  trouble  with  the  charterers,  and  doubted 
whether  they  would  advance  me  enough  money  for 
the  ship's  expenses.  Their  attitude  towards  me  was 
unfriendly.  Altogether  I  was  not  getting  on.  I 
would  discover  at  odd  times  (generally  about  mid- 
night) that  I  was  totally  inexperienced,  greatly  ig- 
norant of  business,  and  hopelessly  unfit  for  any 
sort  of  conmiand ;  and  when  the  steward  had  to  be 
taken  to  the  hospital  ill  with  choleraic  symptoms  I 
felt  bereaved  of  the  only  decent  person  at  the  after 
[18] 


FALK 

end  of  the  ship.  He  was  fully  expected  to  recover, 
but  in  the  meantime  had  to  be  replaced  by  some  sort 
of  servant.  And  on  the  recommendation  of  a  cer- 
tain Schomberg,  the  proprietor  of  the  smaller  of 
the  two  hotels  in  the  place,  I  engaged  a  Chinaman. 
Schomberg,  a  brawny,  hairy  Alsatian,  and  an  awful 
gossip,  assured  me  that  it  was  all  right.  "  First- 
class  boy  that.  Came  in  the  suite  of  his  Excellency 
Tseng  the  Commissioner — you  know.  His  Excel- 
lency Tseng  lodged  with  me  here  for  tliree  weeks." 
He  mouthed  the  Chinese  Excellency  at  me  with 
gi-cat  unction,  though  the  specimen  of  the  "  suite  " 
did  not  seem  very  promising.  At  the  time,  however, 
I  did  not  know  what  an  untrustworthy  humbug 
Schomberg  was.  The  "  bo}'  "  might  have  been  forty 
or  a  hundred  and  forty  for  all  you  could  tell — 
one  of  those  Chinamen  of  the  death's-head  type  of 
face  and  completely  inscrutable.  Before  the  end  of 
the  third  day  he  had  revealed  himself  as  a  confirmed 
opium-smoker,  a  gambler,  a  most  audacious  thief, 
and  a  first-class  sprinter.  When  he  departed  at  the 
top  of  his  speed  with  thirty-two  golden  sovereigns 
of  my  own  hard-earned  savings  it  was  the  last  straw. 
I  had  reserved  that  money  in  case  my  diflliculties 
[19] 


FALK 

came  to  the  worst.  Now  it  was  gone  I  felt  as  poor 
and  naked  as  a  fakir.  I  clung  to  my  ship,  for  all 
the  bother  she  caused  me,  but  wliat  I  could  not  bear 
were  the  long  lonely  evenings  in  her  cudd}',  where 
the  atmosphere,  made  smelly  by  a  leaky  lamp,  was 
agitated  by  the  snoring  of  the  mate.  That  fellow 
shut  himself  up  in  his  stuffy  cabin  punctually  at 
eight,  and  made  gross  and  revolting  noises  like  a 
water-logged  trump.  It  was  odious  not  to  be  able 
to  worry  oneself  in  comfort  on  board  one's  own 
sliip.  Everj^thing  in  this  world,  I  reflected,  even 
the  command  of  a  nice  little  barque,  may  be  made 
a  delusion  and  a  snare  for  the  unwary  spirit  of 
pride  in  man. 

From  such  reflections  I  was  glad  to  make  any  es- 
cape on  board  that  Bremen  Dian-a.  There  appar- 
ently no  whisper  of  the  world's  iniquities  had  ever 
penetrated.  And  yet  she  lived  upon  the  wide  sea: 
and  the  sea  tragic  and  comic,  the  sea  with  its  horrors 
and  its  peculiar  scandals,  the  sea  peopled  by  men 
and  ruled  by  iron  necessity  is  indubitably  a  part  of 
the  world.  But  that  patriarchal  old  tub,  like  some 
saintly  retreat,  echoed  nothing  of  it.  She  was  world 
proof.  Her  venerable  innocence  apparently  had 
[20] 


FALK 

put  a  restraint  on  the  roaring  lusts  of  the  sea.  And 
yet  I  have  known  the  sea  too  long  to  believe  in  its 
respect  for  decency.  An  elemental  force  is  ruthlessly 
frank.  It  may,  of  course,  have  been  Hermann's 
skilful  seamanship,  but  to  me  it  looked  as  if  the  al- 
lied oceans  had  refrained  from  smashing  these  high 
bulwarks,  unshipping  the  lumpy  rudder,  frighten- 
ing the  children,  and  generallj'  opening  this  fam- 
ily's eyes  out  of  sheer  reticence.  It  looked  like  reti- 
cence. The  ruthless  disclosure  was  in  the  end  left 
for  a  man  to  make;  a  man  strong  and  elemental 
enough  and  driven  to  unveil  some  secrets  of  the  sea 
by  the  power  of  a  simple  and  elemental  desire. 

This,  however,  occurred  much  later,  and  mean- 
time I  took  sanctuary  in  that  serene  old  ship  early 
every  evening.  The  only  person  on  board  that 
seemed  to  be  in  trouble  was  little  Lena,  and  in  due 
course  J  perceived  that  the  health  of  the  rag-doll 
was  more  than  delicate.  This  object  led  a  sort  of 
"  in  extremis  "  existence  in  a  wooden  box  placed 
against  the  starboard  mooring-bitts,  tended  and 
nursed  with  the  greatest  sympathy  and  care  by  all 
the  children,  who  greatly  en  joyed  pulling  long  faces 
and  moving  with  hushed  footsteps.  Only  the  baby 
[21] 


FALK 

— Nicholas — looked  on  with  a  cold,  ruffianh-  leer, 
as  if  he  had  belonged  to  another  tribe  altogether. 
Lena  perpetually  sorrowed  over  the  box,  and  all  of 
them  were  in  deadly  earnest.  It  was  wonderful  the 
way  these  children  would  work  up  their  compassion 
for  that  bedraggled  thing  I  wouldn't  have  touched 
with  a  pair  of  tongs.  I  suppose  they  were  exercis- 
ing and  developing  their  racial  sentimentalism  b^ 
the  means  of  that  dummy.  I  was  only  surprised 
that  Mrs.  Hermann  let  Lena  cherish  and  hug  that 
bundle  of  rags  to  that  extent,  it  was  so  disreputably 
and  completely  unclean.  But  Mrs.  Hermann  would 
raise  her  fine  womanly  eyes  from  her  needlework  to 
look  on  with  amused  sympathy,  and  did  not  seem  to 
see  it,  somehow,  that  this  object  of  affection  was  a 
disgrace  to  the  ship's  purity.  Purity,  not  cleanli- 
ness, is  the  word.  It  was  pushed  so  far  that  I  seemed 
to  detect  in  this  too  a  sentimental  excess,  as  if  dirt 
had  been  removed  in  very  love.  It  is  impossible  to 
give  you  an  idea  of  such  a  meticulous  neatness.  It 
was  as  if  every  morning  that  ship  had  been  ardu- 
ously explored  with — with  toothbrushes.  Her  very 
bowsprit  three  times  a  week  had  its  toilette  made 
with  a  cake  of  soap  and  a  piece  of  soft  flannel.  Ar- 
[22] 


FALK- 

rayed — I  must  say  arrayed — arrayed  artlessly  irt 
dazzling  white  paint  as  to  wood  and  dark  green  as 
to  ironwork  the  simple-minded  distribution  of  these 
colours  evoked  the  images  of  simple-minded  peace, 
of  arcadian  felicity;  and  the  childish  comedy  of 
disease  and  sorrow  struck  me  sometimes  as  an  abom- 
inably real  blot  upon  that  ideal  state. 

I  enjoyed  it  greatly,  and  on  my  part  I  brought 
a  little  mild  excitement  into  it.  Our  intimacy  arose 
from  the  pursuit  of  that  thief.  It  was  in  the  even- 
ing, and  Hermann,  who,  contrary  to  his  habits,  had 
stayed  on  shore  late  that  day,  was  extricating  him- 
self backwards  out  of  a  little  gharry  on  the  river 
bank,  opposite  his  ship,  when  the  hunt  passed. 
Realising  the  situation  as  though  he  had  eyes  in  his 
shoulder-blades,  he  joined  us  with  a  leap  and  took 
the  lead.  The  Chinaman  fled  silent  Hke  a  rapid 
shadow  on  the  dust  of  an  extremely  oriental  road. 
I  followed.  A  long  way  in  the  rear  my  mate 
whooped  like  a  savage.  A  young  moon  threw  a 
bashful  light  on  a  plain  like  a  monstrous  waste 
ground :  the  architectural  mass  of  a  Buddhist  tem- 
ple far  away  projected  itself  in  dead  black  on  the 
sky.  We  lost  the  thief  of  course ;  but  in  my  disap- 
[23] 


FALK 

pointment  I  had  to  admire  Hermann's  presence  of 
mind.  The  velocity  that  stodgy  man  developed  in 
the  interests  of  a  complete  stranger  earned  my 
warm  gratitude — there  was  something  truly  cordial 
in  his  exertions. 

He  seemed  as  vexed  as  myself  at  our  failure,  and 
would  hardly  listen  to  my  thanks.  He  said  it  was 
"  nothings,"  and  invited  me  on  the  spot  to  come  on 
board  his  ship  and  drink  a  glass  of  beer  with  him. 
We  poked  sceptically  for  a  while  amongst  the 
bushes,  peered  without  conviction  into  a  ditch  or 
two.  There  was  not  a  sound :  patches  of  slime  glim- 
mered feebly  amongst  the  reeds.  Slowly  we  trudged 
back,  drooping  under  the  thin  sickle  of  the  moon, 
and  I  heard  him  mutter  to  himself,  "  Himmel !  Zwei 
und  dreissig  Pf  und !  "  He  was  impressed  by  the 
figure  of  my  loss.  For  a  long  time  we  had  ceased  to 
hear  the  mete's  whoops  and  yells. 

Then  he  said  to  me,  "  Everybody  has  his  troub- 
les," and  as  we  went  on  remarked  that  he  would 
never  have  known  anything  of  mine  hadn't  he  b}-^  an 
extraordinary  chance  been  detained  on  shore  by 
Captain  Falk.  He  didn't  like  to  stay  late  ashore — 
he  added  with  a  sigh.  The  something  doleful  in  hi§ 
[24] 


FALK 

tone  I  put  to  his  sympathy  with  my  misfortune,  of 
course. 

On  board  the  Diana  Mrs.  Hermann's  fine  eyes 
expressed  much  interest  and  commiseration.  We 
had  found  the  two  women  sewing  face  to  face  under 
the  open  skylight  in  the  strong  glare  of  the  lamp. 
Hermann  walked  in  first,  starting  in  the  very  door- 
way to  pull  off  his  coat,  and  encouraging  me  with 
loud,  hospitable  ejaculations:  "Come  in!  This 
way !  Come  in,  captain !  "  At  once,  coat  In  hand, 
he  began  to  tell  his  wife  all  about  it.  Mrs.  Hermann 
put  the  palms  of  her  plump  hands  together;  I 
smiled  and  bowed  with  a  heavy  heart :  the  niece  got 
up  from  her  sewing  to  bring  Hermann's  slippers 
and  his  embroidered  calotte,  which  he  assumed  pon- 
tificall}^,  talking  (about  me)  all  the  time.  Billows 
of  white  stuff  lay  between  the  chairs  on  the  cabin 
floor ;  I  caught  the  words  "  Zwei  und  dreissig 
Pfund  "  repeated  several  times,  and  presently  came 
the  beer,  which  seemed  delicious  to  my  throat, 
parched  with  running  and  the  emotions  of  the  chase. 

I  didn't  get  away  till  well  past  midnight,  long 
after  the  women  had  retired.  Hermann  had  been 
trading  in  the  East  for  three  years  or  more,  carry- 
[25] 


FALK 

ing  freights  of  rice  and  timber  mostly.  His  ship 
was  well  known  in  all  the  ports  from  Vladivostok  to 
Singapore.  She  was  his  own  property.  The  profits 
had  been  moderate,  but  the  trade  answered  well 
enough  while  the  cliildren  were  small  yet.  In  an- 
other year  or  so  he  hoped  he  would  be  able  to  sell  the 
old  Diana  to  a  firm  in  Japan  for  a  fair  price.  He 
intended  to  return  home,  to  Bremen,  by  mail  boat, 
second  class,  with  Mrs.  Hermann  and  the  children. 
He  told  me  all  this  stolidly,  with  slow  puffs  at  his 
pipe.  I  was  sorry  when  knocking  the  ashes  out  he 
began  to  rub  his  eyes.  I  would  have  sat  with  him 
till  morning.  What  had  I  to  hurry  on  board  my 
own  ship  for.''  To  face  the  broken  rifled  drawer  in 
my  state-room.  Ugh !  The  very  thought  made  me 
feel  unwell. 

I  became  their  dail}^  guest,  as  you  know.  I  think 
that  Mrs.  Hermann  from  the  first  looked  upon  me 
as  a  romantic  person.  I  did  not,  of  course,  tear  m}' 
hair  coram  populo  over  my  loss,  and  she  took  it  for 
lordly  indifference.  Afterwards,  I  daresa3',  I  did 
tell  them  some  of  my  adventures — such  as  they  were 
— and  they  marvelled  greatly  at  the  extent  of  my 
experience.  Hermann  would  translate  what  he 
[26] 


FALK 

thought  the  most  striking  passages.  Getting  up  on 
his  legs,  and  as  if  delivering  a  lecture  on  a  phenom- 
enon, he  addressed  himself,  with  gestures,  to  the 
two  women,  who  would  let  their  sewing  sink  slowly 
on  their  laps.  Meantime  I  sat  before  a  glass  of 
Hermann's  beer,  trying  to  look  modest.  Mrs.  Her- 
mann would  glance  at  me  quickly,  emit  slight 
"  Ach's !  "  The  girl  never  made  a  sound.  Never. 
But  she  too  would  sometimes  raise  her  pale  eyes  to 
look  at  me  in  her  unseeing  gentle  way.  Her  glance 
was  by  no  means  stupid ;  it  beamed  out  soft  and  dif 
fuse  as  the  moon  beams  upon  a  landscape — quite 
differently  from  the  scrutinising  inspection  of  th« 
stars.  You  were  drowned  in  it,  and  imagined  your- 
self to  appear  blurred.  And  yet  this  same  glance 
when  turned  upon  Christian  Falk  must  have  been 
as  efficient  as  the  searchlight  of  a  battle-ship. 

Falk  was  the  other  assiduous  visitor  on  board, 
but  from  his  behaviour  he  might  have  been  coming 
to  see  the  quarter-deck  capstan.  He  certainly  used 
to  stare  at  it  a  good  deal  when  keeping  us  company 
outside  the  cabin  door,  with  one  muscular  arm 
thrown  over  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  his  big 
•hapely  legs,  in  very  tight  white  trousers,  extended 
[«7] 


FALX 

far  out  and  ending  in  a  pair  of  black  shoes  a% 
roomy  as  punts.  On  arrival  he  would  shake  Her- 
mann's hand  with  a  mutter,  bow  to  the  women,  and 
take  up  his  careless  and  misanthropic  attitude  by 
our  side.  He  departed  abrupth^  with  a  jump,  go- 
ing through  the  performance  of  grunts,  hand- 
shakes, bow,  as  if  in  a  panic.  Sometimes,  with  a 
sort  of  discreet  and  convulsive  effort,  he  approached 
the  women  and  exchanged  a  few  low  words  with 
them,  half  a  dozen  at  most.  On  these  occasions  Her- 
mann's usual  stare  became  positively  glassy  and 
jNIrs.  Hermann's  kind  countenance  would  colour  up. 
The  girl  herself  never  turned  a  hair. 

Falk  was  a  Dane  or  perhaps  a  Norwegian,  I 
can't  tell  now.  At  all  events  he  was  a  Scandinavian 
of  some  sort,  and  a  bloated  monopolist  to  boot.  It 
is  possible  he  Avas  unacquainted  with  the  word,  but 
he  had  a  clear  perception  of  the  thing  itself.  His 
tariff  of  charges  for  towing  ships  in  and  out  was 
the  most  brutally  inconsiderate  docimicnt  of  the  sort 
I  had  ever  seen.  He  was  the  commander  and  owner 
of  the  only  tug-boat  on  the  river,  a  very  trim  white 
craft  of  150  tons  or  more,  as  elegantly  neat  as  a 
yacht,  with  a  round  wheel-house  rising  like  a  glazed 
[28] 


FALK 

turret  high  above  her  sharp  bows,  and  with  one  slen- 
der varnished  pole  mast  forward.  I  daresay  there 
are  yet  a  few  shipmasters  afloat  who  remember  Falk 
and  his  tug  very  well.  He  extracted  his  pound  and 
a  half  of  flesh  from  each  of  us  merchant-skippers 
with  an  inflexible  sort  of  indiff'crence  which  made 
him  detested  and  even  feared.  Schomberg  used  to 
remark :  "  I  won't  talk  about  the  fellow.  I  don't 
think  he  has  six  drinks  from  year's  end  to  year's  end 
in  my  place.  But  my  advice  is,  gentlemen,  don't 
you  have  anything  to  do  with  him,  if  you  can  help 
it." 

This  advice,  apart  from  unavoidable  business  re- 
lations, was  easy  to  follow  because  Falk  intruded 
upon  no  one.  It  seems  absurd  to  compare  a  tug- 
boat skipper  to  a  centaur :  but  he  reminded  me  some- 
how of  an  engraving  in  a  little  book  I  had  as  a  boy, 
which  represented  centaurs  at  a  stream,  and  there 
was  one,  especially  in  the  foreground,  prancing  bow 
and  arrows  in  hand,  with  regular  severe  features 
and  an  immense  curled  wavy  beard,  flowing  down 
his  breast.  Falk's  face  reminded  me  of  that  cen- 
taur. Besides,  he  was  a  composite  creature.  Not 
»  man-horse,  it  is  true,  but  a  man-boat.  He  lived 
[29] 


FALK 
on  board  his  tug,  which  was  always  dashing  up  and 
down  the  river  from  early  morn  till  dewy  eve. 

In  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  you  could  pick 
out  far  away  down  the  reach  his  beard  borne  high 
up  on  the  white  structure,  foaming  up  stream  to 
anchor  for  the  night.  There  was  the  white-clad 
man's  body,  and  the  rich  brown  patch  of  the  hair, 
and  nothing  below  the  waist  but  the  'thwart-ship 
white  lines  of  the  bridge-screens,  that  lead  the  eye 
to  the  sharp  white  lines  of  the  bows  cleaving  the 
muddy  water  of  the  river. 

Separated  from  his  boat  to  me  at  least  he  seemed 
incomplete.  The  tug  herself  without  his  head  and 
torso  on  the  bridge  looked  mutilated  as  it  were. 
But  he  left  her  very  seldom.  All  the  time  I  re- 
mained in  harbour  I  saw  him  only  twice  on  shore. 
On  the  first  occasion  it  was  at  my  charterers,  where 
he  came  in  misanthropically  to  get  paid  for  towing 
out  a  French  barque  the  day  before.  The  second 
time  I  could  hardly  believe  my  eyes,  for  I  beheld 
him  reclining  under  his  beard  in  a  cane-bottomed 
chair  in  the  billiard-room  of  Schomberg's  hotel. 

It  was  very  funny  to  see  Schomberg  ignoring 
him  pointedly.     The  artificiality  of  it  contrasted 
[30] 


FAI.K 

strongly  with  Falk's  natural  unconcern.  The  big 
Alsatian  talked  loudly  with  liis  other  customers,  go- 
ing from  one  little  table  to  the  other,  and  passing 
Falk's  place  of  repose  with  his  eyes  fixed  straight 
ahead.  Falk  sat  there  with  an  untouched  glass  at 
his  elbow.  He  must  have  known  by  sight  and  name 
every  white  man  in  the  room,  but  he  never  addressed 
a  word  to  anybody.  He  acknowledged  my  presence 
by  a  drop  of  his  eyelids,  and  that  was  all.  Sprawl- 
ing there  in  the  chair,  he  would,  now  and  again, 
draw  the  palms  of  both  his  hands  down  his  face, 
giving  at  the  same  time  a  slight,  almost  impercepti- 
ble, shudder. 

It  was  a  habit  he  had,  and  of  course  I  was  per- 
fectly familiar  with  it,  since  you  could  not  remain 
an  hour  in  his  company  without  being  made  to  won- 
der at  such  a  movement  breaking  some  long  period 
of  stillness.  It  was  a  passionate  and  inexplicable 
gesture.  He  used  to  make  it  at  all  sorts  of  times ; 
as  likely  as  not  after  he  had  been  listening  to  little 
Lena's  chatter  about  the  suffering  doll,  for  instance. 
The  Hermann  children  always  besieged  him  about 
his  legs  closely,  though,  in  a  gentle  way,  he  shrank 
from  them  a  little.  He  seemed,  however,  to  feel  a 
[31] 


FALK 

great  affection  for  the  whole  family.  For  Hermann 
himself  esjDccially.  He  sought  his  company.  In 
this  case,  for  instance,  he  must  have  been  waiting 
for  him,  because  as  soon  as  he  appeared  Falk  rose 
hastily,  and  they  went  out  together.  Then  Schom- 
berg  expounded  in  my  hearing  to  three  or  four 
people  his  theory  that  Falk  was  after  Captain  Her- 
mann's niece,  and  asserted  confidently  that  nothing 
would  come  of  it.  It  was  the  same  last  year  when 
Captain  Hermann  was  loading  here,  he  said. 

Naturally,  I  did  not  believe  Schomberg,  but  I 
own  that  for  a  time  I  observed  closely  what  went 
on.  All  I  discovered  was  some  impatience  on  Her- 
mann's part.  At  the  sight  of  Falk,  stepping  over 
the  gangway,  the  excellent  man  would  begin  to 
mumble  and  chew  between  his  teeth  something  that 
sounded  like  German  swear-words.  However,  as 
I've  said,  I'm  not  familiar  with  the  language,  and 
Hermann's  soft,  round-eyed  countenance  remained 
unchanged.  Staring  stolidly  ahead  he  greeted 
him  with,  "  Wie  gehts,"  or  in  English,  "  How  are 
you?  "  with  a  throaty  enunciation.  The  girl  would 
look  up  for  an  instant  and  move  her  lips  slightly: 
Mrs.  Hermann  let  her  hands  rest  on  her  lap  to  talk 
[32] 


FALK 

Tolubly  to  him  for  a  minute  or  so  in  her  pleasant 
voice  before  she  went  on  with  her  sewing  again. 
Falk  would  throw  himself  into  a  chair,  stretch  his 
big  legs,  as  like  as  not  draw  his  hands  down  his  face 
passionatel3\  As  to  myself,  he  was  not  pointedly 
impertinent:  it  was  rather  as  though  he  could  not 
be  bothered  with  such  trifles  as  my  existence;  and 
the  truth  is  that  being  a  monopolist  he  was  under 
no  necessity  to  be  amiable.  He  was  sure  to  get  his 
own  extortionate  terms  out  of  me  for  towage 
whether  he  frowned  or  smiled.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
he  did  neither:  but  before  many  days  elapsed  he 
managed  to  astonish  me  not  a  little  and  to  set 
Schomberg's  tongue  clacking  more  than  ever. 

It  came  about  in  this  way.  There  was  a  shallow 
bar  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  which  ought  to  have 
been  kept  down,  but  the  authorities  of  the  State 
were  piously  busy  gilding  afresh  the  great  Buddhist 
Pagoda  just  then,  and  I  suppose  had  no  money  to 
spare  for  dredging  operations.  I  don't  know  how 
it  may  be  now,  but  at  the  time  I  speak  of  that  sand- 
bank was  a  great  nuisance  to  the  shipping.  One  of 
its  consequences  was  that  vessels  of  a  certain 
draught  of  water,  like  Hermann's  or  mine,  could  not 
[33] 


FALK 

complete  their  loading  in  the  river.  After  taking 
in  as  much  as  possible  of  their  cargo,  they  had  to 
go  outside  to  fill  up.  The  whole  procedure  was  an 
unmitigated  bore.  When  you  thought  you  had  as 
much  on  board  as  your  ship  could  carry  safely  over 
the  bar,  you  went  and  gave  notice  to  your  agents. 
They,  in  their  turn,  notified  Falk  that  so-and-so 
was  ready  to  go  out.  Then  Falk  ( ostensibly  when  it 
fitted  in  with  his  other  work,  but,  if  the  truth  were 
known,  simply  when  his  arbitrary  spirit  moved 
him),  after  ascertaining  carefully  in  the  office  that 
there  was  enough  money  to  meet  his  bill,  would 
come  along  unsympatheticall}^,  glaring  at  you  with 
his  yellow  eyes  from  the  bridge,  and  would  drag  you 
out  dishevelled  as  to  rigging,  lumbered  as  to  the 
decks,  with  unfeeling  haste,  as  if  to  execution.  And 
he  would  force  you  too  to  take  the  end  of  his  own 
wire  hawser,  for  the  use  of  which  there  was  of  course 
•>n  extra  charge.  To  your  shouted  remonstrances 
against  that  extortion  this  towering  trunk  with  one 
hand  on  the  engine-room  telegraph  only  shook  its 
bearded  head  above  the  splash,  the  racket,  and  the 
clouds  of  smoke  in  which  the  tug,  backing  and  fill- 
ing in  the  smother  of  churning  paddle-wheels  be- 
[31] 


FALK 

haved  like  a  ferocious  and  impatient  creature.  He 
had  her  manned  by  the  cheekiest  gang  of  lascars  I 
ever  did  see,  whom  he  allowed  to  bawl  at  you  inso- 
lently, and,  once  fast,  he  plucked  you  out  of  your 
berth  as  if  he  did  not  care  what  he  smashed.  Eigh- 
teen miles  down  the  river  you  had  to  go  beliind  him, 
and  then  three  more  along  the  coast  to  where  a 
group  of  uninhabited  rocky  islets  enclosed  a  shel- 
tered anchorage.  There  you  would  have  to  lie  at 
single  anchor  with  your  naked  spars  showing  to 
seaward  over  these  barren  fragments  of  land  scat- 
tered upon  a  very  intensely  blue  sea.  There  was 
nothing  to  look  at  besides  but  a  bare  coast,  the  mud- 
dy edge  of  the  brown  plain  with  the  sinuosities  of 
the  river  you  had  left,  traced  in  dull  green,  and  the 
Great  Pagoda  uprising  lonely  and  massive  with 
shining  curves  and  pinnacles  like  the  gorgeous  and 
stony  efflorescence  of  tropical  rocks.  You  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  wait  fretfully  for  tlie  balance 
of  your  cargo,  which  was  sent  out  of  the  river  with 
the  greatest  irregularity.  And  it  was  open  to  you 
to  console  yourself  with  the  thought  that,  after  all, 
this  stage  of  bother  meant  that  your  departure  from 
these  shores  was  indeed  approaching  at  last. 
[35] 


FALK 

We  both  had  to  go  through  that  stage,  Hennann 
and  I,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  tacit  emulation  be- 
tween the  ships  as  to  which  should  be  ready  first. 
We  kept  on  neck  and  neck  almost  to  the  finish,  wlien 
I  won  the  race  by  going  personally  to  give  notice  in 
the  forenoon ;  whereas  Hermann,  who  was  ver}'-  slow 
in  making  up  his  mind  to  go  ashore,  did  not  get  to 
the  agents'  office  till  late  in  the  day.  They  told  liim 
there  that  my  ship  was  first  on  turn  for  next  morn- 
ing, and  I  believe  he  told  them  he  was  in  no  hurry. 
It  suited  him  better  to  go  the  day  after. 

That  evening,  on  board  the  Diana,  he  sat  with 
his  plump  knees  well  apart,  staring  and  puffing  at 
the  curved  mouthpiece  of  his  pipe.  Presently'  he 
spoke  with  some  impatience  to  his  niece  about  put- 
ting the  children  to  bed.  Mrs.  Hermann,  who  was 
talking  to  Falk,  stopped  short  and  looked  at  her 
liusband  uneasily,  but  the  girl  got  up  at  once  and 
drove  the  children  before  her  into  the  cabin.  In  a 
little  while  Mrs.  Hermann  had  to  leave  us  to  q\iell 
what,  from  the  sounds  inside,  must  have  been  a  dan- 
gerous nmtin3^  At  this  Hermann  grumbled  to  him- 
self. For  half  an  hour  longer  Falk  left  alone  with 
us  fidgeted  on  his  chair,  sighed  Hghtly,  then  at  last, 
[36] 


FALK 

after  drawing  his  hands  down  his  face,  got  up,  and 
as  if  renouncing  the  hope  of  making  himself  under- 
Btood  (he  hadn't  opened  his  mouth  once)  he  said  in 
English :  "  Well.  .  .  .  Good  night.  Captain  Her- 
mann." He  stopped  for  a  moment  before  my  chair 
and  looked  down  fixedly ;  I  may  even  saj^  he  glared : 
and  he  went  so  far  as  to  make  a  deep  noise  in  his 
tliroat.  There  was  in  all  this  something  so  marked 
that  for  the  first  time  in  our  limited  intercourse  of 
nods  and  grunts  he  excited  in  me  something  like 
interest.  But  next  moment  he  disappointed  me — 
for  he  strode  away  hastily  without  a  nod  even. 

His  manner  was  usually  odd  it  is  true,  and  I  cer- 
tainly did  not  pay  much  attention  to  it;  but  that 
sort  of  obscure  intention,  which  seemed  to  lurk  in 
his  nonchalance  like  a  wary  old  carp  in  a  pond,  had 
never  before  come  so  near  the  surface.  He  had  dis- 
tinctly aroused  my  expectations.  I  would  have  been 
unable  to  say  what  it  was  I  expected,  but  at  all 
events  I  did  not  expect  the  absurd  developments  he 
sprung  upon  me  no  later  than  the  break  of  the  very 
next  da}'. 

I  remember  only  that  there  was,  on  that  evening, 
enough  point  in  his  behaviour  to  make  me,  after  he 
[37] 


FALK 

had  fled,  wonder  audibly  what  he  might  mean.  To 
this  Hermann,  crossing  his  legs  with  a  swing  and 
settling  himself  viciously  away  from  me  in  his  chair, 
said :  "  That  fellow  don't  know  himself  what  he 
means." 

There  might  have  been  some  insight  in  such  a 
remark.  I  said  nothing,  and,  still  averted,  he 
added:  "  When  I  was  here  last  year  he  was  just 
the  same."  An  eruption  of  tobacco  smoke  envel- 
oped his  head  as  if  his  temper  had  exploded  like 
gunpowder. 

I  had  half  a  mind  to  ask  him  point  blank  whether 
he,  at  least,  didn't  know  why  Falk,  a  notoriously 
unsociable  man,  had  taken  to  visiting  his  ship  with 
such  assiduity.  After  all,  I  reflected  suddenly,  it 
was  a  most  remarkable  thing.  I  wonder  now  what 
Hermann  would  have  said.  As  it  turned  out  he 
didn't  let  me  ask.  Forgetting  all  about  Falk  ap- 
parently, he  started  a  monologue  on  his  plans  for 
the  future :  the  selling  of  the  ship,  the  going  home ; 
and  falling  into  a  reflective  and  calculating  mood 
he  mumbled  between  regular  jets  of  smoke  about 
the  expense.  The  necessity  of  disbursing  passage 
money  for  all  his  tribe  seemed  to  disturb  him  in  a 
[38] 


FALK 

manner  tliat  was  the  more  striking  because  other- 
wise he  gave  no  signs  of  a  miserly  disposition.  And 
3'et  he  fussed  over  the  prospect  of  that  voyage  home 
in  a  mail  boat  like  a  sedentary  grocer  who  has  made 
up  his  mind  to  see  the  world.  He  was  racially  thrifty 
I  suppose,  and  for  him  there  must  have  been  a  great 
novelty  in  finding  himself  obliged  to  pay  for  travel- 
ling— for  sea  travelling  which  was  the  normal  state 
of  life  for  the  family — from  the  very  cradle  for 
most  of  them.  I  could  see  he  grudged  prospectively 
every  single  shilling  which  must  be  spent  so  absurd- 
ly. It  was  rather  funny.  He  would  become  doleful 
over  it,  and  then  again,  with  a  fretful  sigh,  he  would 
suppose  there  was  nothing  for  it  now  but  to  take 
three  second-class  tickets — and  there  were  the  four 
children  to  pay  for  besides.  A  lot  of  money  that 
to  spend  at  once.    A  big  lot  of  money. 

I  sat  with  him  listening  (not  for  the  first  time) 
to  these  heart-searchings  till  I  grew  thoroughly 
sleepy,  and  then  I  left  him  and  turned  in  on  board 
my  ship.  At  daylight  I  was  awakened  by  a  yelping 
of  shrill  voices,  accompanied  by  a  great  commotion 
in  the  water,  and  the  short,  bullying  blasts  of  a 
steam-whistle.  Falk  with  his  tug  had  come  for  me. 
[89] 


FALK 

I  began  to  dress.  It  was  remarkable  that  the 
answering  noise  on  board  my  ship  together  with  the 
patter  of  feet  above  my  head  ceased  suddenly.  But 
I  heard  more  remote  guttural  cries  which  seemed  to 
express  surprise  and  annoyance.  Then  the  voice  of 
my  mate  reached  me  howling  expostulations  to 
somebody  at  a  distance.  Other  voices  joined,  ap- 
parently indignant;  a  chorus  of  something  that 
sounded  like  abuse  replied.  Now  and  then  the 
steam-whistle  screeched. 

Altogether  that  unnecessary  uproar  was  distract- 
ing, but  down  there  in  my  cabin  I  took  it  calmly. 
In  another  moment,  I  thought,  I  should  be  going 
down  that  wretched  river,  and  in  another  week  at 
the  most  I  should  be  totally  quit  of  the  odious  place 
and  all  the  odious  people  in  it. 

Greatly  cheered  by  the  idea,  I  seized  the  hair- 
brushes and  looking  at  myself  in  the  glass  began  to 
use  them.  Suddenly  a  hush  fell  upon  the  noise  out- 
side, and  I  heard  (the  ports  of  my  cabin  were  thrown 
open) — I  heard  a  deep  calm  voice,  not  on  board  my 
ship,  however,  hailing  resolutely  in  English,  but 
with  a  strong  foreign  twang,  "  Go  ahead !  " 

There  may  be  tides  in  the  affairs  of  men  which 
[40] 


FALK 

taken  at  the  flood  .  .  .  and  so  on.  Personal!}'  T 
am  still  on  the  look  out  for  that  important  turn. 
I  am,  however,  afraid  that  most  of  us  are  fated  to 
flounder  for  ever  in  the  dead  water  of  a  pool  whose 
shores  are  arid  indeed.  But  I  know  that  there  arc 
often  in  men's  aff'airs  unexpectedly — even  irration- 
ally— illuminating  moments  when  an  otherwise  in- 
significant sound,  perhaps  only  some  perfectly  com- 
monplace gesture,  suffices  to  reveal  to  us  all  the 
unreason,  all  the  fatuous  unreason,  of  our  compla- 
cency. "  Go  ahead  "  are  not  particularly  striking 
words  even  when  pronounced  with  a  foreign  accent ; 
yet  they  petrified  me  in  the  very  act  of  smiling  at 
myself  in  the  glass.  And  then,  refusing  to  believe 
my  ears,  but  already  boiling  with  indignation,  I 
ran  out  of  the  cabin  and  up  on  deck. 

It  was  incredibl}'^  true.  It  was  perfectly  true.  I 
had  no  ca'cs  for  an3'thing  but  the  Diana.  It  was  she, 
then,  was  being  taken  away.  She  was  already  out 
of  her  berth  and  shooting  athwart  the  river.  "  The 
way  this  loonatic  plucked  that  ship  out  is  a  cau- 
tion," said  the  awed  voice  of  my  mate  close  to  my 
ear.  "  Hey !  Hallo !  Falk  !  Hermann !  What's  this 
infernal  trick  ?  "  I  yelled  in  a  fury. 
[41] 


FALK 

Nobody  heard  me.  Falk  certainly  could  not  hear 
me.  His  tug  was  turning  at  full  speed  away  under 
the  other  bank.  The  wire  hawser  between  her  and 
the  Diana,  stretched  as  taut  as  a  harpstring, 
vibrated  alarmingly. 

The  high  black  craft  careened  over  to  the  awful 
•train.  A  loud  crack  came  out  of  her,  followed  by 
the  tearing  and  splintering  of  wood.  "  There !  " 
said  the  awed  voice  in  my  ear.  "  He's  carried  away 
their  towing  chock."  And  then,  with  enthusiasm, 
"  Oh !  Look !  Look !  sir,  Look !  at  them  Dutchmen 
skipping  out  of  the  way  on  the  forecastle.  I  hope 
to  goodness  he'll  break  a  few  of  their  shins  before 
he's  done  with  'em." 

I  yelled  my  vain  protests.  The  rays  of  the  rising 
sun  coursing  level  along  the  plain  warmed  my  back, 
but  I  was  hot  enough  with  rage.  I  could  not  have 
believed  that  a  simple  towing  operation  could  sug- 
gest so  plainly  the  idea  of  abduction,  of  rape.  Falk 
was  simply  running  off  with  the  Diana. 

The  white  tug  careered  out  into  the  middle  of  the 
river.  The  red  floats  of  her  paddle-wheels  revolv- 
ing with  mad  rapidity  tore  up  the  whole  reach  into 
foam.  The  Diana  in  mid-stream  waltzed  round 
[42] 


FALK 

with  as  much  grace  as  an  old  barn,  and  flew  after 
her  ravishcr.  Through  the  ragged  fog  of  smoke 
driving  headlong  upon  the  water  I  had  a  glimpse 
of  Falk's  square  motionless  shoulders  under  a  white 
hat  as  big  as  a  cart-wheel,  of  his  red  face,  his  yel- 
low staring  eyes,  his  great  beard.  Instead  of  keep- 
ing a  lookout  ahead,  he  was  deliberately  turning  his 
back  on  the  river  to  glare  at  his  tow.  The  tall 
heavy  craft,  never  so  used  before  in  her  life,  seemed 
to  have  lost  her  senses  ;  she  took  a  wild  sheer  against 
her  helm,  and  for  a  moment  came  straight  at  us, 
menacing  and  clumsy,  like  a  runaway  mountain. 
She  piled  up  a  streaming,  hissing,  boiling  wave 
half-way  up  her  blunt  stem,  my  crew  let  out  one 
great  howl, — and  then  we  held  our  breaths.  It  was 
a  near  thing.  But  Falk  had  her!  He  had  her  in 
his  clutch.  I  fancied  I  could  hear  the  steel  hawser 
ping  as  it  surged  across  the  Diana^s  forecastle,  with 
the  hands  on  board  of  her  bolting  away  from  it  in 
all  directions.  It  was  a  near  thing.  Hermann,  with 
his  hair  rumpled,  in  a  snuffy  flannel  shirt  and  a  pair 
of  mustard-coloured  trousers,  had  rushed  to  help 
with  the  wheel.  I  saw  liis  terrified  round  face;  I 
iaw  his  very  teeth  uncovered  by  a  sort  of  ghastly 
[43] 


FALK 
fixed  grin ;  and  in  a  great  leaping  tumult  of  water 
between  the  two  ships  the  Diana  whisked  past  so 
close  that  I  could  have  flung  a  hair-brush  at  his 
head,  for,  it  seems,  I  had  kept  them  in  my  hands 
all  the  time.  Meanwhile  Mrs.  Hermann  sat  placidly 
on  the  skylight,  with  a  woollen  shawl  on  her  shoul- 
ders. The  excellent  woman  in  response  to  my  in- 
dignant gesticulations  fluttered  a  handkerchief, 
nodding  and  smiling  in  the  kindest  way  imagina- 
ble. The  boys,  only  half-dressed,  were  jumping 
about  the  poop  in  great  glee,  displaying  their 
gaudy  braces ;  and  Lena  in  a  short  scarlet  petticoat, 
T-ith  peaked  elbows  and  thin  bare  arms,  nursed  the 
rag-doll  with  devotion.  The  whole  family  passed 
before  m}'  sight  as  if  dragged  across  a  scene  of  un- 
paralleled violence.  The  last  I  saw  was  Hermann's 
niece  with  the  baby  Hermann  in  her  arms  standing 
apart  from  the  others.  Magnificent  in  her  close- 
fitting  print  frock  she  displayed  something  so  com- 
manding in  the  manifest  perfection  of  her  figure 
that  the  sun  seemed  to  be  rising  for  her  alone.  The 
flood  of  light  brought  out  the  opulence  of  her  form 
and  the  vigour  of  her  youth  in  a  glorifying  way. 
She  went  by  perfectly  motionless  and  as  if  lost  in 
[44] 


FALK 

meditation ;  onl}'  the  hem  of  her  skirt  stirred  in  the 
draught;  the  sun  rays  broke  on  her  sleek  tawny 
l)air ;  that  bald-headed  ruffian,  Nicholas,  was  whack- 
ing her  on  the  shoulder.  I  saw  his  tiny  fat  arm 
rise  and  fall  in  a  workmanhke  manner.  And  then 
the  four  cottage  windows  of  the  Diana  came  into 
view  retreating  swiftly  down  the  river.  The  sashes 
were  up,  and  one  of  the  white  calico  curtains  was 
fluttered  straight  out  like  a  streamer  above  the  agi- 
tated water  of  the  wake. 

To  be  thus  tricked  out  of  one's  turn  was  an  un- 
heard of  occurrence.  In  my  agent's  office,  where  I 
went  to  complain  at  once,  they  protested  with  apol- 
ogies they  couldn't  understand  how  the  mistake 
arose: but Schomberg when  I  dropped  in  later  to  get 
some  tiffin,  though  surprised  to  see  me,  was  perfect- 
ly ready  vith  an  explanation.  I  found  bJm  seated  at 
the  end"  of  a  long  narrow  table,  facing  his  vdie — a 
scraggy  little  woman,  with  long  ringlets  and  a  blue 
tooth,  who  smiled  abroad  stupidly  and  looked 
frightened  when  3'ou  spoke  to  her.  Between  them  a 
waggling  punkah  fanned  twenty  cane-bottomed 
chairs  and  tAvo  rows  of  shiny  plates.  Three  China- 
men in  white  jackets  loafed  with  napkins  in  their 
[45] 


FALK 

hands  around  that  desolation.  Schomberg's  pet 
iabU  d'hote  was  not  much  of  a  success  that  day. 
He  was  feeding  himself  ferociously  and  seemed  to 
overflow  with  bitterness. 

He  began  by  ordering  in  a  brutal  voice  the  chops 
to  be  brought  back  for  me, and  turning  in  his  chair: 
"  Mistake  they  told  you?  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Don't 
you  believe  it  for  a  moment,  captain !  Falk  isn't  a 
man  to  make  mistakes  unless  on  purpose."  His 
irm  conviction  was  that  Falk  had  been  trying  all 
along  to  curry  favour  on  the  cheap  with  Hermann. 
"  On  the  cheap — mind  you !  It  doesn't  cost  him  a 
cent  to  put  that  insult  upon  you,  and  Captain  Her- 
mann gets  in  a  day  ahead  of  your  ship.  Time's 
money!  Eh.^  You  are  very  friendly  with  Captain 
Hermann  I  believe,  but  a  man  is  bound  to  be  pleased 
at  any  little  advantage  he  may  get.  Captain  Her- 
mann is  a  good  business  man,  and  there's  no  such 
thing  as  a  friend  in  business.  Is  there?  "  He 
leaned  forward  and  began  to  cast  stealthy  glances 
as  usual.  "  But  Falk  is,  and  always  was,  a  misera- 
ble fellow.    I  would  despise  him." 

I  muttered,  grumpily,  that  I  had  no  particiilar 
retpect  for  Falk. 

[46] 


"  I  would  despise  him,"  he  insisted,  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  anxiety  which  would  have  amused  me 
if  I  had  not  been  fathoms  deep  in  discontent.  To 
a  young  man  fairly  conscientious  and  as  well-mean- 
ing as  only  the  young  man  can  be,  the  current  ill- 
usage  of  life  comes  with  a  peculiar  cruelty.  Youth 
that  is  fresh  enough  to  believe  in  guilt,  in  innocence, 
and  in  itself,  will  always  doubt  whether  it  have  not 
perchance  deserved  its  fate.  Sombre  of  mind  and 
without  appetite,  I  struggled  with  the  chop  while 
Mrs.  Schomberg  sat  with  her  everlasting  stupid 
grin  and  Schomberg's  talk  gathered  way  like  a  slide 
of  rubbish. 

"  Let  me  tell  you.  It's  all  about  that  girl.  I 
don*t  know  what  Captain  Hermann  expects,  but  if 
he  asked  me  I  could  tell  him  something  about  Falk. 
He's  a  miserable  fellow.  That  man  is  a  perfect 
slave.  .  That's  what  I  call  him.  A  slave.  Last 
year  I  started  this  table  d'hote,  and  sent  cards  out 
— ^you  know.  You  think  he  had  one  meal  in  the 
house  ?  Give  the  thing  a  trial .''  Not  once.  He  has 
got  hold  now  of  a  Madras  cook — a  blamed  fraud 
that  I  hunted  out  of  my  cookhouse  with  a  rattan. 
He  was  not  fit  to  cook  for  white  men.  No,  not  for 
[47] 


FALK 

the  white  men's  dogs  either;  but,  see,  any  damned 
native  that  can  boil  a  pot  of  rice  is  good  enough  for 
Mr.  Falk.  Rice  and  a  little  fish  he  buys  for  a  few 
cents  from  the  fishing  boats  outside  is  what  he  lives 
on.  You  would  hardly  credit  it — eh?  A  white 
man,  too.   .   .   ." 

He  wiped  his  lips,  using  the  napkin  with  indig- 
nation, and  looking  at  me.  It  flashed  through  my 
mind  in  the  midst  of  my  depression  that  if  all  the 
meat  in  the  town  was  like  these  table  d'hote  chops, 
Falk  wasn't  so  far  wrong.  I  was  on  the  point  of 
saying  this,  but  Schomberg's  stare  was  intimidat- 
ing. "  He's  a  vegetarian,  perhaps,"  I  murmured 
instead. 

"  He's  a  miser.  A  miserable  miser,"  affirmed  the 
hotel-keeper  with  great  force,  "  The  meat  here  is 
not  so  good  as  at  home — of  course.  And  dear  too. 
But  look  at  me.  I  only  charge  a  dollar  for  the  tif- 
fin, and  one  dollar  and  fifty  cents  for  the  dinner. 
Show  me  anything  cheaper.  Why  am  I  doing  it? 
There's  little  profit  in  this  game.  Falk  wouldn't 
look  at  it.  I  do  it  for  the  sake  of  a  lot  of  young 
white  fellows  here  that  hadn't  a  place  where  they 
could  get  a  decent  meal  and  eat  it  decently  in  good 
[48] 


FALK 

company.  There's  first-rate  company  always  at 
my  table." 

The  convinced  way  he  surveyed  the  empty  chairs 
made  me  feel  as  if  I  had  intruded  upon  a  tiffin  of 
ghostly  Presences. 

"  A  white  man  should  eat  like  a  white  man,  dash 
it  all,"  he  burst  out  impetuously.  "  Ought  to  eat 
meat,  must  eat  meat.  I  manage  to  get  meat  for  my 
patrons  all  the  year  round.  Don't  I.''  I  am  not  ca- 
tering for  a  dam'  lot  of  coolies :  Have  another  chop, 
captain.   .   .   .  No?    You,  boy — takeaway!" 

He  threw  himself  back  and  waited  grimly  for  the 
curry.  The  half -closed  jalousies  darkened  the  room 
pervaded  by  the  smell  of  fresh  Avhitewash :  a  swarm 
of  flies  buzzed  and  settled  in  turns,  and  poor  Mrs. 
Schomberg's  smile  seemed  to  express  the  quintes- 
sence of  all  the  imbecility  that  had  ever  spoken,  had 
ever  breathed,  had  ever  been  fed  on  infamous  buffalo 
meat  within  these  bare  walls.  Schomberg  did  not 
open  his  lips  till  he  was  ready  to  thrust  therein  a 
spoonful  of  greasy  rice.  He  rolled  his  eyes  ridicu- 
lously before  he  swallowed  the  hot  stuff,  and  only 
then  broke  out  afresh. 

*'  It  is  tlic  most  degrading  tiling.  They  take  the 
[49] 


FALE 

diih  up  to  the  wheelhouse  for  hira  with  a  cover  on  it, 
and  he  shuts  both  the  doors  before  he  begins  to  eat. 
Fact !  Must  be  ashamed  of  himself.  Ask  the  engi- 
neer. He  can't  do  without  an  engineer — don't  you 
see — and  as  no  respectable  man  can  be  expected  to 
put  up  with  such  a  table,  he  allows  them  fifteen  dol- 
lars a  month  extra  mess  money.  I  assure  you  it  is 
so !  You  just  ask  Mr.  Ferdinand  da  Costa.  That's 
the  engineer  he  has  now.  You  may  have  seen  him 
about  my  place,  a  delicate  dark  young  man,  with 
very  fine  eyes  and  a  little  moustache.  He  arrived 
here  a  year  ago  from  Calcutta.  Between  you  and 
me,  I  guess  the  money-lenders  there  must  have  been 
after  him.  He  rushes  here  for  a  meal  every  chance 
he  can  get,  for  just  please  tell  me  what  satisfaction 
is  that  for  a  well-educated  young  fellow  to  feed  all 
alone  in  his  cabin — like  a  wild  beast?  That's  what 
Falk  expects  his  engineers  to  put  up  with  for  fifteen 
dollars  extra.  And  the  rows  on  board  every  time  a 
little  smell  of  cooking  gets  about  the  deck !  You 
wouldn't  believe !  The  other  day  da  Costa  got  the 
cook  to  fry  a  steak  for  him — a  turtle  steak  it  was 
too,  not  beef  at  all — and  the  fat  caught  or  some- 
thing. Young  da  Costa  himself  was  telling  me  of 
[50] 


FALK 

it  here  in  this  room.  *  Mr.  Schomberg  ' — says  he— 
*  if  I  had  let  a  cylinder  cover  blow  off  through  the 
skylight  by  my  negligence  Captain  Falk  couldn't 
have  been  more  savage.  He  frightened  the  cook  so 
that  he  won't  put  anything  on  the  fire  for  me  now.* 
Poor  da  Costa  had  tears  in  his  eyes.  Only  try  to 
put  yourself  in  his  place,  captain :  a  sensitive,  gen- 
tlemanly young  fellow.  Is  he  expected  to  eat  his 
food  raw?  But  that's  your  Falk  all  over.  Ask  any 
one  you  like.  I  suppose  the  fifteen  dollars  extra  he 
has  to  give  keep  on  rankling — in  there." 

And  Schomberg  tapped  his  manly  breast.  I  sat 
half  stunned  by  his  irrelevant  babble.  Suddenly 
he  gripped  my  forearm  in  an  impressive  and  cau- 
tious manner,  as  if  to  lead  me  into  a  very  cavern  of 
confidence. 

"  It's  nothing  but  enviousness,"  he  said  in  a  low- 
ered tone,  which  had  a  stimulating  effect  upon  my 
wearied  hearing.  "  I  don't  suppose  there  is  one 
person  in  this  town  that  he  isn't  envious  of.  I  tell 
you  he's  dangerous.  Even  I  myself  am  not  safe 
from  him.  I  know  for  certain  he  tried  to  poi- 
■on  .  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  come  now,"  I  cried,  revolted. 
[51] 


FALK 

"  But  I  know  for  certain.  The  people  themselves 
came  and  told  me  of  it.  He  went  about  saying 
everywhere  I  was  a  worse  pest  to  this  town  than  the 
cholera.  He  had  been  talking  against  rae  ever  since 
I  opened  this  hotel.  And  he  poisoned  Captain  Her- 
mann's mind  too.  Last  time  the  Diana  was  loading 
here  Captain  Hermann  used  to  come  in  every  day 
for  a  drink  or  a  cigar.  This  time  he  hasn't  been 
here  twice  in  a  week.  How  do  you  account  for 
that?" 

He  squeezed  my  arm  till  he  extorted  from  me 
some  sort  of  mumble. 

"  He  makes  ten  times  the  money  I  do.  I've 
another  hotel  to  fight  against,  and  there  is  no  other 
tug  on  the  river.  I  am  not  in  his  way,  am  I.''  He 
wouldn't  be  fit  to  run  an  hotel  if  he  tried.  But  that's 
just  his  nature.  He  can't  bear  to  think  I  am  mak- 
ing a  living.  I  only  hope  it  makes  him  properly 
wretched.  He's  like  that  in  everything.  He 
would  like  to  keep  a  decent  table  well  enough. 
But  no — for  the  sake  of  a  few  cents.  Can't  do  it. 
It's  too  much  for  him.  That's  what  I  call  being  a 
slave  to  it.  But  he's  mean  enough  to  kick  up  a  roAv 
when  his  nose  gets  tickled  a  bit.  See  that.?  That 
[52] 


FALK 

just  paints  him.  Miserlj'^  and  envious.  You  can't 
account  for  it  any  other  way.  Can  you?  I  have 
been  studying  him  these  three  years." 

He  was  anxious  I  should  assent  to  his  theory. 
And  Indeed  on  thinking  it  over  it  would  have  been 
plausible  enough  if  there  hadn't  been  always  the 
essential  falseness  of  irresponsibility  in  Schom- 
berg's  chatter.  However,  I  was  not  disposed  to  in- 
vestigate the  psychology  of  Falk.  I  was  engaged 
just  then  in  eating  despondently  a  piece  of  stale 
Dutch  cheese,  being  too  much  crushed  to  care  what 
I  swallowed  mj'self,  let  alone  bothering  my  head 
about  Falk's  ideas  of  gastronomy.  I  could  expect 
from  their  study  no  clue  to  his  conduct  in  matters 
of  business,  which  seemed  to  me  totally  unrestrained 
by  morality  or  even  by  the  commonest  sort  of  de- 
cency. How  Insignificant  and  contemptible  I  must 
appear,,  for  the  fellow  to  dare  treat  me  like  this — I 
reflected  suddenly,  writhing  in  silent  agony.  And 
I  consigned  Falk  and  all  his  peculiarities  to  the  devil 
with  so  much  mental  fervour  as  to  forget  Schom- 
berg's  existence,  till  he  grabbed  my  arm  urgently. 
"  Well,  you  may  think  and  think  till  every  hair  of 
your  head  falls  off,  captain ;  but  you  can't  explain 

it  In  any  other  way." 

[5»] 


FALlt 

For  the  sake  of  peace  and  quietness  I  admitted 
hurriedly  that  I  couldn't;  persuaded  that  now  hft 
would  leave  off.  But  the  only  result  was  to  make 
his  moist  face  shine  with  the  pride  of  cunning.  He 
removed  his  hand  for  a  moment  to  scare  a  black 
mass  of  flies  off  the  sugar-basin  and  caught  hold  of 
my  arm  again. 

"  To  be  sure.  And  in  the  same  way  everybody  is 
aware  he  would  like  to  get  married.  Only  he  can't. 
Let  me  quote  you  an  instance.  Well,  two  years  ago 
a  Miss  Vanlo,  a  very  ladylike  girl,  came  from  home 
to  keep  house  for  her  brother,  Fred,  who  had  an  en- 
gineering shop  for  small  repairs  by  the  water  side. 
Suddenly  Falk  takes  to  going  up  to  their  bunga- 
low after  dinner,  and  sitting  for  hours  in  the  veran- 
dah saying  nothing.  The  poor  girl  couldn't  tell 
for  the  life  of  her  what  to  do  with  such  a  man,  so  she 
would  keep  on  playing  the  piano  and  singing  to 
him  evening  after  evening  till  she  was  ready  to 
drop.  And  it  wasn't  as  if  she  had  been  a  strong 
young  woman  either.  She  was  thirty,  and  the  cli- 
mate had  been  playing  the  deuce  with  her.  Then — 
don't  you  know — Fred  had  to  sit  up  with  them  for 
propriety,  and  during  whole  weeks  on  end  never  got 
[64] 


FALK 

a  single  chance  to  get  to  bed  before  midnight. 
That  was  not  pleasant  for  a  tired  man — was  it? 
And  besides  Fred  had  worries  then  because  his  shop 
didn't  pay  and  he  was  dropping  money  fast.  He 
just  longed  to  get  away  from  here  and  try  his  luck 
somewhere  else,  but  for  the  sake  of  his  sister  he 
hung  on  and  on  till  he  ran  himself  into  debt  over  his 
ears — I  can  tell  3'ou.  I,  myself,  could  show  a  hand- 
ful of  his  chits  for  meals  and  drinks  in  my  drawer. 
I  could  never  find  out  tho'  where  he  found  all  the 
money  at  last.  Can't  be  but  he  must  have  got  some- 
thing out  of  that  brother  of  his,  a  coal  merchant  in 
Port  Said.  Anyhow  he  paid  everybody  before  he 
left,  but  the  girl  nearly  broke  her  heart.  Disap- 
pointment, of  course,  and  at  her  age,  don't  you 
know.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Schomberg  here  was  very  friendly 
with  her,  and  she  could  tell  you.  Awful  despair. 
Fainting,  fits.  It  was  a  scandal.  A  notorious  scan- 
dal. To  that  extent  that  old  Mr.  Siegers — not 
your  present  charterer,  but  Mr.  Siegers  the  father, 
the  old  gentleman  who  retired  from  business  on  a 
fortune  and  got  buried  at  sea  going  home,  he  had 
to  interview  Falk  in  his  private  office.  He  was  a 
man  who  could  speak  like  a  Dutch  Uncle,  and,  be- 


FALK 

sides,  Messrs.  Siegers  had  been  helping  Falk  with 
a  good  bit  of  money  from  the  start.  In  fact  you 
ma}'  say  they  made  him  as  far  as  that  goes. 
It  so  happened  that  just  at  the  time  he  turned  up 
here,  their  firm  was  chartering  a  lot  of  sailing  ships 
ever^^  year,  and  it  suited  their  business  that  there 
should  be  good  towing  facilities  on  the  river.  See.-' 
.  .  .  Well- — there's  always  an  ear  at  the  keyhole — 
isn't  there  .^  In  fact,"  he  lowered  his  tone  confiden- 
tially, "  in  this  case  a  good  friend  of  mine ;  a  man 
you  can  see  here  any  evening ;  only  they  conversed 
rather  low.  Anyhow  my  friend's  certain  that  Falk 
was  trying  to  make  all  sorts  of  excuses,  and  old  Mr. 
Siegers  was  coughing  a  lot.  And  yet  Falk  wanted 
all  the  time  to  be  married  too.  Why  !  It's  notorious 
the  man  Ims  been  longing  for  years  to  make  a  home 
for  himself.  Only  he  can't  face  the  expense. 
When  it  comes  to  putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket — 
it  chokes  liim  off.  That's  the  truth  and  no  other. 
I've  always  said  so,  and  everybody  agrees  with  me 
by  this  time.    What  do  you  think  of  that — eh?  " 

He  appealed  confidently  to  my  indignation,  but 
having  a  mind  to  annoy  him  I  remarked,  "  that  it 
seemed  to  me  very  pitiful — if  true." 
166] 


FALX 

He  bounced  in  his  chair  as  if  I  had  run  a  pin  into 
him.  I  don't  know  what  he  might  have  said,  only 
at  that  moment  we  heard  through  the  half  open 
door  of  the  billiard-room  the  footsteps  of  two  men 
entering  from  the  verandah,  a  murmur  of  two 
voices;  at  the  sharp  tapping  of  a  coin  on  a  table 
Mrs.  Schomberg  half  rose  irresolutel3\  "  S>t  still," 
he  hissed  at  her,  and  then,  in  an  hospitable,  jovial 
tone,  contrasting  amazingly  with  the  angry  glance 
that  had  made  his  wife  sink  in  her  chair,  he  cried 
very  loud :  "  Tiffin  still  going  on  in  here,  gentle- 
men." 

There  was  no  answer,  but  the  voices  dropped  sud- 
denly. The  head  Chinaman  went  out.  We  heard 
the  clink  of  ice  in  the  glasses,  pouring  sounds,  the 
shuffling  of  feet,  the  scraping  of  chairs.  Schom- 
berg, after  wondering  in  a  low  mutter  who  the  devil 
could  be  there  at  this  time  of  the  day,  got  up  napkin 
in  hand  to  peep  through  the  doorway  cautiously. 
He  retreated  rapidly  on  tip-toe,  and  whispering  be- 
hind his  hand  informed  me  that  it  was  Falk,  Falk 
himself  who  was  in  there,  and,  what's  more.  I.e  l.id 
Captain  Hermann  with  him. 

The  return  of  the  tug  from  the  outer  Roads  was 
[67] 


FALK 

unexpected  but  possible,  for  Falk  had  taken  away 
the  Diana  at  half-past  five,  and  it  was  now  two 
o'clock.  Schomberg  wished  me  to  observe  that 
neither  of  these  men  would  spend  a  dollar  on  a  tiffin, 
which  they  must  have  wanted.  But  by  the  time  I 
was  ready  to  leave  the  dining-room  Falk  had  gone. 
I  heard  the  last  of  his  big  boots  on  the  planks  of 
the  verandah.  Hermann  was  sitting  quite  alone  in 
the  large,  wooden  room  with  the  two  lifeless  billiard 
tables  shrouded  in  striped  covers,  mopping  his  face 
diligently.  He  wore  his  best  go-ashore  clothes,  a 
stiff  collar,  black  coat,  large  white  waistcoat,  grey 
trousers.  A  white  cotton  sunshade  with  a  cane  han- 
dle reposed  between  his  legs,  his  side  whiskers  were 
neatly  brushed,  his  chin  had  been  freshly  shaved; 
and  he  only  distantly  resembled  the  dishevelled  and 
terrified  man  in  a  snuffy  night  shirt  and  ignoble  old 
trousers  I  had  seen  in  the  morning  hanging  on  to 
the  wheel  of  the  Diana. 

He  gave  a  start  at  my  entrance,  and  addressed 
me  at  once  in  some  confusion,  but  with  genuine  ea- 
gerness. He  was  anxious  to  make  it  clear  he  had 
nothing  to  do  with  what  he  called  the  "  tam  piz- 
ness  "  of  the  morning.  It  was  most  inconvenient. 
[58] 


FALK 
He  had  reckoned  upon  another  day  up  in  town  to 
settle  his  bills  and  sign  certain  papers.  There  were 
also  some  few  stores  to  come,  and  sundry  pieces  of 
"  my  ironwork,"  as  he  called  it  quaintly,  landed  for 
repairs,  had  been  left  behind.  Now  he  would  have 
to  hire  a  native  boat  to  take  all  this  out  to  the  ship. 
It  would  cost  five  or  six  dollars  perhaps.  He  had 
had  no  warning  from  Falk.  Nothing.  .  .  .  He 
hit  the  table  with  his  dumpy  fist.  .  .  .  Der  ver- 
fluchte  Kerl  came  in  the  morning  like  a  "  tam' 
ropper,"  making  a  great  noise,  and  took  him  away. 
His  mate  was  not  prepared,  his  ship  was  moored 
fast — he  protested  it  was  shameful  to  come  upon 
a  man  in  that  way.  Shameful !  Yet  such  was  the 
power  Falk  had  on  the  river  that  when  I  suggested 
in  a  chilling  tone  that  he  might  have  simply  refused 
to  have  his  ship  moved,  Hermann  was  quite  startled 
at  the  idea.  I  never  realised  so  well  before  that  this 
is  an  age  of  steam.  The  exclusive  possession  of  a 
marine  boiler  had  given  Falk  the  whiphand  of  us 
all.  Hermann,  recovering,  put  it  to  me  appealingly 
that  I  knew  very  well  how  unsafe  it  was  to  contra- 
dict that  fellow.  At  this  I  only  smiled  distantly. 
"  Der  Kerl !  "  he  cried.  He  was  sorry  he  had  not 
[69] 


FALK 

refused.  He  was  indeed.  The  damage !  The  dam- 
age! What  for  all  that  damage!  There  was  no 
occasion  for  damage.  Did  I  know  how  much  dam- 
age he  had  done  ?  It  gave  me  a  certain  satisfaction 
to  tell  him  that  I  had  heard  his  old  waggon  of  a 
ship  crack  fore  and  aft  as  she  went  by.  "  You 
passed  close  enough  to  me,"  I  added  significantly. 

He  threw  both  his  hands  up  to  heaven  at  the  rec- 
ollection. One  of  them  grasped  by  the  middle  the 
white  parasol,  and  he  resembled  curiously  a  carica- 
ture of  a  shopkeeping  citizen  in  one  of  his  own  Ger- 
man comic  papers.  "  Ach  !  That  was  dangerous," 
he  cried.  I  was  amused.  But  directly  he  added 
with  an  appearance  of  simplicity,  "  The  side  of 
your  iron  ship  would  have  been  crushed  in  like — 
like  this  matchbox." 

"  Would  it.''  "  I  growled,  much  less  amused  now; 
but  by  the  time  I  had  decided  that  this  remark  was 
not  meant  for  a  dig  at  me  he  had  worked  himself 
into  a  high  state  of  resentfulness  against  Falk. 
The  inconvenience,  the  damage,  the  expense !  Gott- 
ferdam!  Devil  take  the  fellow.  Behind  the  bar 
Schomberg  with  a  cigar  in  his  teeth,  pretended  to 
be  writing  with  a  pencil  on  a  large  sheet  of  paper ; 
[CO] 


FALK 

and  as  Hermann's  excitement  increased  it  made  me 
comfortingly'  a  ware  of  my  own  calmness  and  supe- 
riority. But  it  occurred  to  me  while  I  listened  to 
his  revihnge,  that  after  all  the  good  man  had  come 
up  in  the  tug.  There  perhaps — since  he  must  come 
to  town — he  had  no  option.  But  evidentl}'  he  had 
had  a  drink  with  Falk,  either  accepted  or  offered. 
How  was  that?  So  I  checked  him  by  saying  loftily 
that  I  hoped  he  would  make  Falk  pay  for  every 
penny  of  the  damage. 

"  That's  it !  That's  it !  Go  for  him,"  called  out 
Schomberg  from  the  bar,  flinging  his  pencil  down 
and  rubbing  his  hands. 

We  ignored  his  noise.  But  Hermann's  excite- 
ment suddenl}-  went  off  the  boil  as  when  you  remove 
a  saucepan  from  the  fire.  I  urged  on  his  considera- 
tion that  he  had  done  now  with  Falk  and  Falk's  con- 
founded tug.  He,  Hennann,  would  not,  perhaps, 
turn  up  again  in  this  part  of  the  world  for  years  to 
come,  since  he  was  going  to  sell  the  Diana  at  the  end 
of  this  very  trip  ("  Go  home  passenger  in  a  mail 
boat,"  he  murmured  mechanically).  He  was  there- 
fore safe  from  Falk's  malice.  All  he  had  to  do  was 
to  race  off  to  his  consignees  and  stop  payment  of 

[61] 


FALK 

the  towage  bill  before  Falk  had  the  time  to  get  in 
and  lift  the  money. 

Nothing  could  have  been  less  in  the  spirit  of  my 
advice  than  the  thoughtful  way  in  which  he  set 
about  to  make  his  parasol  stay  propped  against  the 
edge  of  the  table. 

While  I  watched  his  concentrated  efforts  with  as- 
tonishment he  threw  at  me  one  or  two  perplexed, 
half -shy  glances.  Then  he  sat  down.  "  That's  all 
very  well,"  he  said  reflectively. 

It  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  man  had  been 
thrown  off  his  balance  by  being  hauled  out  of  the 
harbour  against  his  wish.  His  stolidity  had  been 
profoundly  stirred,  else  he  would  never  have  made 
up  his  mind  to  ask  me  unexpectedly  whether  I  had 
not  remarked  that  Falk  had  been  casting  eyes  upon 
his  niece.  "  No  more  than  myself,"  I  answered  with 
literal  truth.  The  girl  was  of  the  sort  one  necessa- 
rily casts  eyes  at  in  a  sense.  She  made  no  noise, 
but  she  filled  most  satisfactorily  a  good  bit  of  space. 

"  But  you,  captain,  are  not  the  same  kind  of 
man,"  observed  Hermann. 

I  was  not,  I  am  happy  to  say,  in  a  position  to 
deny  this.  "  What  about  the  lady.^  "  I  could  not 
[62] 


FALK 

help  asking.  At  this  he  gazed  for  a  time  into  my 
face,  earnestly,  and  made  as  if  to  change  the  sub- 
ject. I  heard  him  beginning  to  mutter  something 
unexpected,  about  his  children  growing  old  enough 
to  require  schooling.  He  would  have  to  leave  them 
ashore  with  their  grandmother  when  he  took  up  that 
new  command  he  expected  to  get  in  Germany. 

This  constant  harping  on  his  domestic  arrange- 
ments was  funny.  I  suppose  it  must  have  been  like 
the  prospect  of  a  complete  alteration  in  his  life.  An 
epoch.  He  was  going,  too,  to  part  with  the  Diana! 
He  had  served  in  her  for  years.  He  had  inherited 
her.  From  an  uncle,  if  I  remember  rightly.  And 
the  future  loomed  big  before  him,  occupying  his 
thought  exclusively  with  all  its  aspects  as  on  the 
eve  of  a  venturesome  enterprise.  He  sat  there 
frowning  and  biting  his  lip,  and  suddenly  he  began 
to  fume  and  fret. 

I  discovered  to  my  momentary  amusement  that 
he  seemed  to  imagine  I  could,  should  or  ought, 
have  caused  Falk  in  some  way  to  pronounce  him- 
self. Such  a  hope  was  incomprehensible,  but  funny. 
Then  the  contact  with  all  this  foolishness  irritated 
me.  I  said  crossly  that  I  had  seen  no  symptoms, 
[63] 


F  A  T.  K 

but  if  there  were  any  — since  he,  Hermann,  was  so 
sure — then  it  was  still  worse.  What  pleasure  Falk 
found  in  humbugging  people  in  just  that  way  I 
couldn't  say.  It  was,  however,  my  solemn  duty  to 
warn  him.  It  had  lately,  I  said,  come  to  my  knowl- 
edge that  there  was  a  man  (not  a  very  long  time 
ago  either)  who  had  been  taken  in  just  like  this. 

All  this  passed  In  undertones,  and  at  this  point 
Schomberg,  exasperated  at  our  secrecy,  went  out 
of  the  room  slamming  the  door  with  a  crash  that 
positivel}'  lifted  us  in  our  chairs.  This,  or  else  what 
I  had  said,  huffed  my  Hermann.  He  supposed,  with 
a  contemptuous  toss  of  his  head  towards  the  door 
which  trembled  yet,  that  I  had  got  hold  of  some  of 
that  man's  silly  tales.  It  looked,  indeed,  as  though 
his  mind  had  been  thoroughly  poisoned  against 
Schomberg.  "  His  tales  were — they  were,"  he  re- 
peated, seeking  for  the  word — "  trash."  They 
were  trash,  he  reiterated,  and  moreover  I  was  young 
yet  .   .   . 

This  horrid  aspersion  (I  regret  I  am  no  longer 
exposed  to  that  sort  of  insult)  made  me  huffy  too. 
I  felt  ready  in  my  own  mind  to  back  up  every  asser- 
tion of  Schomberg's  and  on  any  subject.  In  a  mo- 
[64] 


TALK 

ment,  devil  only  knows  why,  Hermann  and  I  were 
looking  at  each  other  most  inimically.  He  caught 
up  his  hat  without  more  ado  and  I  gave  myself  the 
pleasure  of  calling  after  him : 

"  Take  my  advice  and  make  Falk  pay  for  break- 
ing up  your  ship.  You  aren't  likely  to  get  any- 
thing else  out  of  him." 

When  I  got  on  board  my  ship  later  on,  the  old 
mate,  who  was  very  full  of  the  events  of  the  morn- 
ing, remarked : 

"I  saw  the  tug  coming  back  from  the  outer  Roads 
just  before  two  p.m."  (He  never  by  any  chance  used 
the  words  morning  or  afternoon.  Always  p.m.  or 
A.M.,  log-book  stj'le.)  "  Smart  work  that.  Man's 
always  in  a  state  of  hurry.  He's  a  regular 
chucker-out,  ain't  he,  sir?  There's  a  few  pubs  I 
know  of  in  the  East-end  of  London  that  would  be 
all  the  better  for  one  of  liis  sort  around  the  bar." 
He  chuckled  at  his  joke.  "  A  regular  chucker-out. 
Now  he  has  fired  out  that  Dutchman  head  over  heels, 
I  suppose  our  turn's  coming  to-morrow  morning." 

We  were  all  on  deck  at  break  of  da}'  (even  the 
sick — poor  devils — liad  crawled  out)  ready  to  cast 
off  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye.  Nothing  came, 
[65] 


FALK 

Falk  did  not  come.  At  last,  when  I  began  to  think 
that  probably  something  had  gone  wrong  in  his 
engine-room,  we  perceived  the  tug  going  by,  full 
pelt,  down  the  river,  as  if  we  hadn't  existed.  For  a 
moment  I  entertained  the  wild  notion  that  he  was 
going  to  turn  round  in  the  next  reach.  Afterwards 
I  watched  his  smoke  appear  above  the  plain,  now 
here,  now  there,  according  to  the  windings  of  the 
river.  It  disappeared.  Then  without  a  word  I 
went  down  to  breakfast.  I  just  simply  went  down 
to  breakfast. 

Not  one  of  us  uttered  a  sound  till  the  mate,  after 
imbibing — by  means  of  suction  out  of  a  saucer — • 
his  second  cup  of  tea,  exclaimed :  "  Where  the  devil 
is  the  man  gone  to?  " 

"  Courting !  "  I  shouted,  with  such  a  fiendish 
laugh  that  the  old  chap  didn't  venture  to  open  his 
lips  any  more. 

I  started  to  the  office  perfectly  calm.  Calm  with 
excessive  rage.  Evidently  they  knew  all  about  it 
already,  and  they  treated  me  to  a  show  of  conster- 
nation. The  manager,  a  soft-footed,  immensely 
obese  man,  breathing  short,  got  up  to  meet  me, 
while  all  round  the  room  the  young  clerks,  bend- 
[66] 


FALK 
ing  over  the  papers  on  their  desks,  cast  upward 
glances  in  my  direction.  The  fat  man,  without 
waiting  for  my  complaint,  wheezing  heavily  and 
in  a  tone  as  if  he  himself  were  incredulous,  con- 
veyed to  me  the  news  that  Falk — Captain  Talk — 
had  declined — had  absolutely  declined — to  tow  my 
ship — ^to  have  anything  to  do  with  my  ship — this 
day  or  any  other  day.    Never ! 

I  did  my  best  to  preserve  a  cool  appearance,  but, 
all  the  same,  I  must  have  shown  how  much  taken 
aback  I  was.  We  were  talking  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  Suddenly  behind  my  back  some  ass  blew 
his  nose  with  great  force,  and  at  the  same  time  an- 
other quill-driver  jumped  up  and  went  out  on  the 
landing  hastily.  It  occurred  to  me  I  was  cutting 
a  foolish  figure  there.  I  demanded  angrily  to  see 
the  principal  in  his  private  room. 

The  skin  of  Mr.  Siegers'  head  showed  dead  white 
between  the  iron  grey  streaks  of  hair  lying  plas- 
tered cross-wise  from  ear  to  ear  over  the  top  of  his 
skull  in  the  manner  of  a  bandage.  His  narrow 
sunken  face  was  of  an  uniform  and  permanent  ter- 
ra-cotta  colour,  like  a  piece  of  pottery.  He  was 
sickly,  thin,  and  short,  with  wrists  like  a  boy  of  ten. 
[67] 


FALK 

But  from  that  debile  body  there  issued  a  bullying 
voice,  tremendously  loud,  harsh  and  resonant,  as 
if  produced  by  some  powerful  mechanical  contriv- 
ance in  the  nature  of  a  fog-horn.  I  do  not  know 
what  he  did  with  it  in  the  private  life  of  his  home, 
but  in  the  larger  sphere  of  business  it  presented  the 
advantage  of  overcoming  arguments  without  the 
slightest  mental  effort,  by  the  mere  volume  of 
sound.  We  had  had  several  passages  of  arms.  It 
took  me  all  I  knew  to  guard  the  interests  of  my 
owners — whom,  nota  bene,  I  had  never  seen — while 
Siegers  (who  had  made  their  acquaintance  some 
years  before,  during  a  business  tour  in  Australia) 
pretended  to  the  knowledge  of  their  innermost 
minds,  and,  in  the  character  of  "  our  very  good 
friends,"  threw  them  perpetually  at  my  head. 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  jaundiced  ej'e  (there  was 
no  love  lost  between  us),  and  declared  at  once  that 
it  was  strange,  very  strange.  His  pronunciation 
of  English  was  so  extravagant  that  I  can't  even 
attempt  to  reproduce  it.  For  instance,  he  said 
"  Fferic  strantch."  Combined  with  the  bellowing 
intonation  it  made  the  language  of  one's  childhood 
sound  weirdly  startling,  and  even  if  considered 
[68] 


FALK 

purely  as  a  kind  of  unmeaning  noifie  it  filled  you 
\rith  astonishment  at  first.  "  They  had,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  been  acquainted  with  Captain  Falk  for 
very  many  years,  and  never  had  any  reason.  .  .  ." 

"  That's  why  I  come  to  you,  of  course,"  I  inter- 
rupted. "  I've  the  right  to  know  the  meaning  of 
this  infernal  nonsense."  In  the  half  light  of  the 
room,  which  was  greenish,  because  of  the  tree-tops 
screening  the  window,  I  saw  him  writhe  his  meagre 
shoulders.  It  came  into  my  head,  as  disconnected 
ideas  will  come  at  all  sorts  of  times  into  one's  head, 
that  this,  most  likely,  was  the  very  room  where,  if 
the  talc  were  true,  Falk  had  been  lectured  by  Mr. 
Siegers,  the  father.  Mr.  Siegers'  (the  son's)  over- 
whelming voice,  in  brassy  blasts,  as  though  he  had 
been  trying  to  articulate  his  words  through  a  trom- 
bone, was  expressing  his  great  regret  at  a  conduct 
characterised  by  a  very  marked  want  of  discre- 
tion. .  .  As  I  lived  I  was  being  lectured  too  !  His 
deafening  gibberish  was  difliicult  to  follow,  but  it 
was  7117/  conduct — mine ! — that  .  .  .  Damn !  I 
wasn't  going  to  stand  this. 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  driving  at  ?  "  I  asked 
in  a  passion.     I  put  my  hat  on  my  head  (he  never 
[69] 


:f  ALK 

offered  a  seat  to  anybody),  and  as  he  seemed  for 
the  moment  struck  dumb  by  my  irreverence,  I 
turned  my  back  on  him  and  marched  out.  His  vo- 
cal arrangements  blared  after  me  a  few  threats  of 
coming  down  on  the  ship  for  the  demurrage  of  the 
lighters,  and  all  the  other  expenses  consequent 
upon  the  delays  arising  from  my  frivolity. 

Once  outside  in  the  sunshine  my  head  swam.  It 
was  no  longer  a  question  of  mere  delay.  I  per- 
ceived myself  involved  in  hopeless  and  humiliating 
absurdities  that  were  leading  me  to  something  very 
like  a  disaster.  "  Let  us  be  calm,"  I  muttered  to 
myself,  and  ran  into  the  shade  of  a  leprous  wall. 
From  that  short  side-street  I  could  see  the  broad 
main  thoroughfare  ruinous  and  gay,  running 
away,  away  between  stretches  of  decaying  mason- 
ry, bamboo  fences,  ranges  of  arcades  of  brick  and 
plaster,  hovels  of  lath  and  mud,  lofty  temple  gates 
of  carved  timber,  huts  of  rotten  mats — an  im- 
mensely wide  thoroughfare,  loosely  packed  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach  with  a  barefooted  and  brown 
multitude  paddling  ankle  deep  in  the  dust.  For  a 
moment  I  felt  myself  about  to  go  out  of  my  mind 
with  worry  and  desperation. 
[70] 


FALK 

Some  allowance  must  be  made  for  the  feelings 
of  a  young  man  new  to  responsibility.  I  thought 
of  my  crew.  Half  of  them  were  ill,  and  I  really 
began  to  think  that  some  of  them  would  end  by  dy- 
ing on  board  if  I  couldn't  get  them  out  to  sea  soon. 
Obviously  I  should  have  to  take  my  ship  down  the 
river,  either  working  under  canvas  or  dredging 
with  the  anchor  down;  operations  which,  in  com- 
mon with  many  modern  sailors,  I  only  knew  theo- 
retically. And  I  almost  shrank  from  undertaking 
them  shorthanded  and  without  local  knowledge 
of  the  river  bed,  which  is  so  necessary  for  the  con- 
fident handling  of  the  ship.  There  were  no  pilots, 
no  beacons,  no  buoys  of  any  sort;  but  there  was  a 
very  devil  of  a  current  for  anybody  to  see,  no  end 
of  shoal  places,  and  at  least  two  obviously  awkward 
turns  of  the  channel  between  me  and  the  sea.  But 
how  dangerous  these  turns  were  I  would  not  tell.  I 
didn't  even  know  what  my  ship  was  capable  of! 
I  had  never  handled  her  in  my  hfe.  A  misunder- 
standing between  a  man  and  his  ship  in  a  difficult 
river  with  no  room  to  make  it  up,  is  bound  to  end  in 
trouble  for  the  man.  On  the  other  hand,  it  must 
be  owned  I  had  not  much  reason  to  count  upon  a 
£71] 


PALK 

general  run  of  good  luck.  And  suppoee  I  Imd  the 
misfortune  to  pile  her  up  high  and  drj  on  some 
beastly  shoal?  Tliat  would  have  been  tlie  final  un- 
doing of  that  voyage.  It  was  plain  tliat  if  FaJJt 
refused  to  tow  me  out  he  would  also  refuse  to  pull 
me  off'.  This  meant— what?  A  day  lost  at  tlie 
very  best ;  but  more  hkely  a  whole  fortnight  of 
frizzling  on  some  pestilential  mudflat,  of  desperate 
work,  of  discharging  cargo;  more  than  likely  it 
meant  borrowing  money  at  an  exorbitant  rate  of 
interest — from  the  Siegers'  gang  too  at  that.  They 
were  a  power  in  the  port.  And  that  elderly  seaman 
of  mine,  Gambril,  had  looked  prett}-  ghastly  when 
I  went  forward  to  dose  him  with  quinine  that  morn- 
ing. He  would  certainly  die — not  to  speak  of  two 
or  three  others  that  seemed  nearly  as  bad,  and  of 
the  rest  of  them  just  ready  to  catch  any  tropical 
disease  going.  Horror,  ruin  and  everlasting  re- 
morse. And  no  help.  None.  I  had  fallen  amongst 
a  lot  of  unfriendly  lunatics ! 

At  any  rate,  if  I  must  take  my  ship  down  myself 
it  was  my  duty  to  procure  if  possible  some  local 
knowledge.     But  that  was  not  easy.    The  only  per- 
son I  could  think  of  for  that  service  was  a  certain 
[7S] 


FALK 

Johnson,  former!}'  captain  of  a  country  ship,  but 
now  spliced  to  a  countr}'  wife  and  gone  utterly  to 
the  bad.  I  had  only  heard  of  him  in  the  vaguest 
way,  as  living  concealed  in  the  thick  of  two  hundred 
thousand  natives,  and  only  emerging  into  the  light 
of  day  for  the  purpose  of  hunting  up  some  brandy. 
I  had  a  notion  that  if  I  could  lay  my  hands  on  him 
I  would  sober  him  on  board  my  ship  and  use  him 
for  a  pilot.  Better  than  nothing.  Once  a  sailor 
always  a  sailor — and  he  had  known  the  river  for 
years.  But  in  our  Consulate  (where  I  arrived  drip- 
ping after  a  sharp  walk)  they  could  tell  me  noth- 
ing. The  excellent  young  men  on  the  staff,  though 
willing  to  help  me,  belonged  to  a  sphere  of  the 
white  colony  for  which  that  sort  of  Johnson  does 
not  exist.  Their  suggestion  was  that  I  should  hunt 
the  man  up  myself  with  the  help  of  the  Consulate*s 
constable — an  ex-sergeant-major  of  a  regiment  of 
Hussars." 

This  man,  whose  usual  duty  apparently  consisted 
in  sitting  behind  a  little  table  in  an  outer  room 
of  Consular  offices,  when  ordered  to  assist  me  in 
my  search  for  Johnson  displayed  lots  of  energy 
and  a  marvellous  amount  of  local  knowledge  of  a 
[78] 


FALK 

sort.  But  he  did  not  conceal  an  immense  and  scep« 
tical  contempt  for  the  whole  business.  We  explored 
together  on  that  afternoon  an  infinity  of  infamous 
grog  shops,  gambling  dens,  opium  dens.  We 
walked  up  narrow  lanes  where  our  gharry — a  tiny 
box  of  a  thing  on  wheels,  attached  to  a  jibbing  Bur- 
mah  pony — could  by  no  means  have  passed.  The 
constable  seemed  to  be  on  terms  of  scornful  inti- 
macy with  Maltese,  with  Eurasians,  with  China- 
men, with  Klings,  and  with  the  sweepers  attached 
to  a  temple,  with  whom  he  talked  at  the  gate.  We 
interviewed  also  through  a  grating  in  a  mud  wall 
closing  a  blind  alley  an  immensely  corpulent  Ital- 
ian, who,  the  ex-sergeant-major  remarked  to  me 
perfunctorily,  had  "  killed  another  man  last  year." 
Thereupon  he  addressed  him  as  "  Antonio  "  and 
"  Old  Buck,"  though  that  bloated  carcase,  appar- 
ently more  than  half  filling  the  sort  of  cell  where- 
in it  sat,  recalled  rather  a  fat  pig  in  a  stye.  Fa- 
miliar and  never  unbending,  the  sergeant  chucked 
— absolutely  chucked — under  the  chin  a  horribly 
wrinkled  and  shrivelled  old  hag  propped  on  a  stick, 
who  had  volunteered  some  sort  of  information :  and 
with  the  same  stolid  face  he  kept  up  an  animated 
[74] 


FALK 

conversation  with  the  groups  of  swathed  brown 
women,  who  sat  smoking  cheroots  on  the  door-steps 
of  a  long  range  of  clay  hovels.  We  got  out  of  the 
gharry  and  clambered  into  dwellings  airy  like 
packing  crates,  or  descended  into  places  sinister 
like  cellars.  We  got  in,  we  drove  on,  we  got  out 
again  for  the  sole  purpose,  as  it  seemed,  of  looking 
behind  a  heap  of  rubble.  The  sun  declined;  my 
companion  was  curt  and  sardonic  in  his  answers, 
but  it  appears  we  were  just  missing  Johnson  all 
along.  At  last  our  conveyance  stopped  once  more 
with  a  jerk,  and  the  driver  jumping  down  opened 
the  door. 

A  black  mudhole  blocked  the  lane.  A  mound  of 
garbage  crowned  with  the  dead  body  of  a  dog  ar- 
rested us  not.  An  empty  Australian  beef  tin 
bounded  cheerily  before  the  toe  of  my  boot.  Sud- 
denly we  clambered  through  a  gap  in  a  prickly 
fence.  .  .  . 

It  was  a  very  clean  native  compound:  and  the 
big  native  woman,  with  bare  brown  legs  as  thick 
as  bedposts,  pursuing  on  all  fours  a  silver  dollar 
that  came  rolling  out  from  somewhere,  was  Mrs. 
Johnson  herself.  "  Your  man's  at  home,"  said  the 
[75] 


F  A  L  K 

ex-sergeant,  and  stepped  aside  in  complete  and 
marked  indifference  to  anything  that  might  follow. 
Johnson — at  home — stood  with  liis  back  to  a  native 
house  built  on  posts  and  with  its  walls  made  of 
mats.  In  his  left  hand  he  held  a  banana.  Out  of 
the  right  he  dealt  another  dollar  into  space.  The 
woman  captured  this  one  on  the  wing,  and  there 
and  then  plumped  down  on  the  ground  to  look  at 
us  with  greater  comfort. 

My  man  was  sallow  of  face,  grizzled,  unshaven, 
muddy  on  elbows  and  back ;  where  the  seams  of  his 
serge  coat  yawned  you  could  see  his  white  naked- 
ness. The  vestiges  of  a  paper  collar  encircled  his 
neck.  He  looked  at  us  with  a  grave,  swaying  sur- 
prise. "  Where  do  you  come  from .''  "  he  asked. 
My  heart  sank.  How  could  I  have  been  stupid 
enough  to  waste  energy  and  time  for  this  ? 

But  having  already  gone  so  far  I  approached  a 
little  nearer  and  declared  the  purpose  of  my  visit. 
He  would  have  to  come  at  once  with  me,  sleep  on 
board  my  ship,  and  to-morrow,  with  the  first  of  the 
ebb,  he  would  give  me  his  assistance  in  getting  my 
ship  down  to  the  sea,  without  steam.  A  six-hun- 
dred-ton barque,  drawing  nine  feet  aft.  I  pro- 
[76] 


FALK 

posed  to  give  him  eighteen  dollars  for  his  local 
knowledge ;  and  all  the  time  I  was  speaking  he 
kept  on  considering  attentively  the  various  aspects 
of  the  banana,  holding  first  one  side  up  to  his  eye, 
then  the  other. 

"  You've  forgotten  to  apologise,"  he  said  at  last 
with  extreme  precision.  "  Not  being  a  gentleman 
yourself,  you  don't  know  apparently  when  you  in- 
trude upon  a  gentleman.  I  am  one.  I  wish  you  to 
understand  that  when  I  am  in  funds  I  don't  work, 
and  now  ..." 

I  would  have  pronounced  him  perfectly  sober 
hadn't  he  paused  in  great  concern  to  try  and  brush 
a  hole  off  the  knee  of  his  trousers. 

"  I  have  money — and  friends.  Every  gentle- 
man has.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  know  my 
friend.''  His  name  is  Falk.  You  could  borrow 
some  money.  Try  to  remember.  F-A-L-K,  Falk." 
Abruptly  his  tone  changed.  "  A  noble  heart,"  he 
said  muzzily. 

"  Has  Falk  been  giving  you  some  money  ?  "  I 
asked,  appalled  by  the  detailed  finish  of  the  dark 
plot. 

"  Lent  me,  my  good  man,  not  given  me.  Lent," 
[77] 


FALK 

he  corrected  Buavelj.  "  Met  me  taking  the  air 
last  evening,  and  being  as  usual  anxious  to  oblige 

Hadn't  you  better  go  to  the  devil  out  of  my 

compound  ?  " 

And  upon  this,  without  other  warning,  h«  l«t 
fly  with  the  banana  which  missed  my  head,  and  took 
the  constable  just  under  the  left  eye.  He  rushed 
at  the  miserable  Johnson,  stammering  with  fury. 
They  fell.  .  .  .  But  why  dwell  on  the  wretched- 
ness, the  breathlessness,  the  degradation,  the  sense- 
lessness, the  weariness,  the  ridicule  and  humiliation 
and — and — the  perspiration,  of  these  moments?  I 
dragged  the  ex-hussar  off.  He  was  like  a  wild 
beast.  It  seems  he  had  been  greatly  annoyed  at 
losing  his  free  afternoon  on  my  account.  The  gar- 
den of  his  bungalow  required  his  personal  atten- 
tion, and  at  the  slight  blow  of  the  banana  the  brute 
in  him  had  broken  loose.  We  left  Johnson  on  his 
back,  still  black  in  the  face,  but  beginning  to  kick 
feebly.  Meantime,  the  big  woman  had  remained 
sitting  on  the  ground,  apparently  paralysed  with 
extreme  terror. 

For  half  an  hour  we  jolted  inside  our  rolling 
box*  sidt  by  sid^,  in  profound  ftil*nc«.    Th«  «x-Mr- 


PALK 

geant  was  busy  staunching  the  blood  of  a  long 
scratch  on  his  cheek.  "  I  hope  you're  satisfied,"  he 
said  suddenly.  "  That's  what  comes  of  all  that 
tomfool  business.  If  you  hadn't  quarrelled  with 
that  tugboat  skipper  over  some  girl  or  other,  all 
this  wouldn't  have  happened." 

"  You  heard  that  story.?"  I  said. 

"  Of  course  I  heard.  And  I  shouldn't  wonder  if 
the  Consul-General  himself  doesn't  come  to  hear 
of  it.  How  am  I  to  go  before  him  to-morrow  with 
that  thing  on  my  cheek — I  want  to  know.  Its 
7/ou  who  ought  to  have  got  this !" 

After  that,  till  the  gharry  stopped  and  he 
jumped  out  without  leave-taking,  he  swore  to  him- 
self steadily,  horribly;  muttering  great,  purpose- 
ful, trooper  oaths,  to  which  the  worst  a  sailor  can 
do  is  like  the  prattle  of  a  child.  For  my  part  I  had 
just  the  strength  to  crawl  into  Schomberg's  coffee- 
room,  where  I  wrote  at  a  little  table  a  note  to  the 
mate  instructing  him  to  get  everything  ready  foi 
dropping  down  the  river  next  day.  I  couldn't 
face  my  ship.  Well !  she  had  a  clever  sort  of  skip- 
per and  no  mistake — poor  thing!  What  a  horrid 
mess!  I  took  my  head  between  my  hands.  At 
[79] 


FALK 

times  the  obviousness  of  my  innocence  would  reduce 
me  to  despair.  What  had  I  done?  If  I  had  done 
something  to  bring  about  the  situation  I  should  at 
least  have  learned  not  to  do  it  again.  But  I  felt 
guiltless  to  the  point  of  imbecility.  The  room  was 
empty  yet;  only  Schomberg  prowled  round  me 
goggle-eyed  and  with  a  sort  of  awed  respectful  cu- 
riosity. No  doubt  he  had  set  the  story  going  him- 
self; but  he  was  a  good-hearted  chap,  and  I  am 
really  persuaded  he  participated  in  all  my  troubles. 
He  did  what  he  could  for  me.  He  ranged  aside  the 
heavy  matchstand,  set  a  chair  straight,  pushed  a 
spittoon  slightly  with  his  foot — as  you  show  small 
attentions  to  a  friend  under  a  great  sorrow — 
sighed,  and  at  last,  unable  to  hold  his  tongue: 

"  Well !  I  warned  you,  captain.  That's  what 
comes  of  running  your  head  against  Mr.  Falk. 
Man'll  stick  at  nothing." 

I  sat  without  stirring,  and  after  surveying  me 
with  a  sort  of  commiseration  in  his  eyes  he  burst 
out  in  a  hoarse  whisper :  "  But  for  a  fine  lump  of 
a  girl,  she's  a  fine  lump  of  a  girl."  He  made  a  loud 
smacking  noise  with  his  thick  lips.  "  The  finest 
lump  of  a  girl  that  I  ever  .  .  ."  he  was  going  on 
[80] 


FALK 

with  great  unction,  but  for  some  reason  or  other 
broke  off.  I  fancied  myself  throwing  something 
at  his  head.  "  I  don't  blame  you,  captain.  Hang 
me  if  I  do,"  he  said  with  a  patronising  air. 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said  resignedly.  It  was  no  use 
fighting  against  this  false  fate.  I  don't  know  even 
if  I  was  sure  myself  where  the  truth  of  the  matter 
began.  The  conviction  that  it  would  end  disas- 
trously had  been  driven  into  me  by  all  the  succes- 
sive shocks  my  sense  of  security  had  received.  I 
began  to  ascribe  an  extraordinary  potency  to 
agents  in  themselves  powerless.  It  was  as  if 
Schomberg's  baseless  gossip  had  the  power  to  bring 
about  the  thing  Itself  or  the  abstract  enmity  of 
Falk  could  put  my  ship  ashore. 

I  have  already  explained  how  fatal  this  last 
would  have  been.  For  my  further  action,  my 
youth,  my  inexperience,  my  very  real  concern  for 
the  health  of  my  crew  must  be  my  excuse.  The  ac- 
tion itself,  when  it  came,  was  purely  impulsive.  It 
was  set  in  movement  quite  undiplomatically  and 
elmply  by  Falk's  appearance  In  the  doorway. 

The  room  was  full  by  then  and  buzzing  with 
[81] 


FALK 
voices.  I  had  been  looked  at  with  curiosity  by 
every  one,  but  how  am  I  to  describe  the  sensation 
produced  by  the  appearance  of  Falk  himself  block- 
ing the  doorway?  The  tension  of  expectation 
could  be  measiired  by  the  profundity  of  the  silence 
that  fell  upon  the  very  click  of  the  billiard  balls. 
As  to  Schoniberg,  he  looked  extremely  frightened ; 
he  hated  mortally  any  sort  of  row  {fracas  he  called 
it)  in  his  estabhshment.  Fracas  was  bad  for  busi- 
ness, he  affirmed;  but,  in  truth,  this  specimen  of 
portly,  middle-aged  manhood  was  of  a  timid  dis- 
position. I  don't  know  what,  considering  my  pres- 
ence in  the  place,  they  all  hoped  would  come  of  it. 
A  sort  of  stag  fight,  perhaps.  Or  they  may  have 
supposed  Falk  had  come  in  only  to  annihilate  me 
completely.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Falk  had  come  in 
because  Hermann  had  asked  him  to  inquire  after  the 
precious  wliite  cotton  parasol  which,  in  the  worry 
and  excitement  of  the  previous  day,  he  had  forgot- 
ten at  the  table  where  we  had  held  our  little  discus- 
Bion. 

It  was  this  that  gave  me  my  opportunity.     I 
don't  think  I  would  have  gone  to  seek  Falk  out. 
No.    I  don't  think  so.    Tliere  are  limits.    But  there 
[82] 


FALK 

was  an  opportunity  and  I  seized  it — I  have  already 
tried  to  explain  why.  Now  I  will  merely  state  that, 
in  my  opinion,  to  get  his  sickly  crew  into  the  sea 
air  and  secure  a  quick  despatch  for  his  ship  a  skip- 
per would  be  justified  in  going  to  any  length,  short 
of  absolute  crime.  He  should  put  his  pride  in  his 
pocket ;  he  may  accept  confidences ;  explain  his  in- 
nocence as  if  it  were  a  sin ;  he  may  take  advantage 
of  misconceptions,  of  desires  and  of  weaknesses ;  he 
ought  to  conceal  his  horror  and  other  emotions, 
and,  if  the  fate  of  a  human  being,  and  that  human 
being  a  magnificent  young  girl,  is  strangely  in- 
volved— why,  he  should  contemplate  that  fate 
(whatever  it  might  seem  to  be)  without  turning  a 
hair.  And  all  these  things  I  have  done;  the  ex- 
plaining, the  listening,  the  pretending — even  to 
the  discretion — and  nobody,  not  even  Hermann's 
niece,  I  believe,  need  throw  stones  at  me  now. 
Schomberg  at  all  events  needn't,  since  from  first  to 
last,  I  am  happy  to  say,  there  was  not  the  slightest 
**  fracas." 

Overcoming  a  nervous  contraction  of  the  wind- 
pipe, I  had  managed  to  exclaim  "  Captain  Falk ! " 
His  start  of  surprise  was  perfectly  genuine,  but 
[83] 


FALK 

afterwards  he  neither  smiled  nor  scowled.  He  sim- 
ply waited.  Then,  when  I  had  said,  "  I  must  have 
a  talk  with  3'ou,"  and  had  pointed  to  a  chair  at  my 
table,  he  moved  up  to  me,  though  he  didn't  sit 
down.  Schomberg,  however,  with  a  long  tumbler 
in  his  hand,  was  making  towards  us  prudently,  and 
I  discovered  then  the  only  sign  of  weakness  in  Falk. 
He  had  for  Schomberg  a  repulsion  resembling  that 
sort  of  physical  fear  some  people  experience  at  the 
sight  of  a  toad.  Perhaps  to  a  man  so  essentially 
and  silently  concentrated  upon  himself  (though  he 
could  talk  well  enough,  as  I  was  to  find  out 
presently)  the  other's  irrepressible  loquacity,  em- 
bracing every  human  being  within  range  of  the 
tongue,  might  have  appeared  unnatural,  disgust- 
ing, and  monstrous.  He  suddenly  gave  signs  of 
restiveness — positively  like  a  horse  about  to  rear, 
and,  muttering  hurriedl}'  as  if  In  great  pain,  "  No. 
I  can't  stand  that  fellow,"  seemed  ready  to  bolt. 
This  weakness  of  his  gave  me  the  advantage  at  the 
ver3'  start.  "  Verandah,"  I  suggested,  as  if  ren- 
dering him  a  service,  and  walked  him  out  by  the 
arm.  We  stumbled  over  a  few  chairs;  we  had  the 
feeling  of  open  space  before  us,  and  felt  the  fresh 
[84] 


FALK 

breath  of  the  river — fresh,  but  tainted.  The  Chi- 
nese tlicatres  across  the  water  made,  in  the  sparsely 
twinkling  masses  of  gloom  an  Eastern  town  pre- 
sents at  Tiiglit,  blazing  centres  of  light,  and  of  a 
distant  and  howling  uproar.  I  felt  him  become 
suddenly  tractable  again  like  an  animal,  like  a 
good-tempered  horse  when  the  object  that  scares 
him  is  removed.  Yes.  I  felt  in  the  darkness  there 
how  tractable  he  was,  without  m}^  conviction  of  his 
inflexibilitj-^ — tenacity,  rather,  perhaps — being  in 
the  least  weakened.  His  very  arm  abandoning  it- 
self to  my  grasp  was  as  hard  as  marble — like  a  limb 
of  iron.  But  I  heard  a  tumultuous  scuffling  of 
boot-soles  within.  The  unspeakable  idiots  inside 
were  crowding  to  the  windoAvs,  climbing  over  each 
other's  backs  behind  the  blinds,  billiard  cues  and  all. 
Somebody  broke  a  window  pane,  and  with  the  sound 
of  falling  glass,  so  suggestive  of  riot  and  devasta- 
tion, Schomberg  reeled  out  after  us  in  a  state  of 
funk  which  had  prevented  his  parting  with  his 
brandy  and  soda.  He  must  have  trembled  like  an 
aspen  leaf.  The  piece  of  ice  in  the  long  tumbler 
he  held  in  his  hand  tinkled  with  an  effect  of  chat- 
tering teeth.  "  I  beg  you,  gentlemen,"  he  expost- 
[851 


PALK 

ulated  thickly.  "  Come !  Really,  now,  I  must  in- 
sist .  .  .*' 

How  proud  I  am  of  ray  presence  of  mind! 
"  Hallo,"  I  said  instantly  in  a  loud  and  naive  tone, 
"  somebody's  breaking  j'our  windows,  Schomberg. 
Would  you  please  tell  one  of  your  boys  to  bring 
out  here  a  pack  of  cards  and  a  couple  of  lights? 
And  two  long  drinks.    Will  you  ?  " 

To  receive  an  order  soothed  him  at  once.  It  was 
business.  "  Certainly,"  he  said  in  an  immensely 
relieved  tone.  The  night  was  rainy,  with  wander- 
ing gusts  of  wind,  and  while  we  waited  for  the  can- 
dles Falk  said,  as  if  to  justify  his  panic,  "  I  don't 
interfere  in  anybody's  business.  I  don't  give  any 
occasion  for  talk.  I  am  a  respectable  man.  But 
this  fellow  is  always  making  out  something  wrong, 
and  can  never  rest  till  he  gets  somebody  to  believe 
him." 

This  was  the  first  of  my  knowledge  of  Falk. 
This  desire  of  respectability,  of  being  like  every- 
body else,  was  the  only  recognition  he  vouchsafed 
to  the  organisation  of  mankind.  For  the  rest  he 
might  have  been  the  member  of  a  herd,  not  of  a  so- 
ciety. Self-preservation  was  his  only  concern. 
[86] 


FALK 

Not  selfishness,  but  mere  self-preservation.  Sel- 
fishness presupposes  consciousness,  choice,  the  pres- 
ence of  other  men ;  but  his  instinct  acted  «is  though 
he  were  the  last  of  mankind  nursing  that  law  like 
the  only  spark  of  a  sacred  fire.  I  don't  mean  to 
say  that  hving  naked  in  a  cavern  would  have  satis- 
fied him.  Obviously  he  was  the  creature  of  the 
conditions  to  which  he  was  bom.  No  doubt  self- 
preservation  meant  also  the  preservation  of  these 
conditions.  But  essentially  it  meant  something 
much  more  simple,  natural,  and  powerful.  How 
shall  I  express  it.?  It  meant  the  preservation  of  the 
five  senses  of  his  body — let  us  say — taking  it  in  its 
narrowest  as  well  as  in  its  widest  meaning.  I  think 
you  will  admit  before  long  the  justice  of  this  judg- 
ment. However,  as  we  stood  there  together  in  the 
dark  verandah  I  had  judged  nothing  as  yet — and 
I  had  no  desire  to  judge — which  is  an  idle  practice 
anyhow.    The  light  was  long  in  coming. 

"  Of  course,"  I  said  in  a  tone  of  mutual  under- 
standing, "  it  isn't  exactly  a  game  of  cards  I  want 
with  you." 

I  saw  him  draw  his  hands  down  his  face — the 
[ST] 


FALK 

vague  stir  of  the  passionate  and  meaningless  ges- 
ture ;  but  he  waited  in  silent  patience.  It  was  only 
when  the  lights  had  been  brought  out  that  he 
opened  his  lips.  I  understood  his  mumble  to  mean 
that  "  he  didn't  know  any  game." 

*'  Like  this  Schomberg  and  all  the  other  fools 
will  have  to  keep  off,"  I  said  tearing  open  the  pack. 
"  Have  you  heard  that  we  are  universally  supposed 
to  be  quarrelling  about  a  girl?  You  know  who — 
of  course.  I  am  really  ashamed  to  ask,  but  is  it 
possible  that  you  do  me  the  honour  to  think  me  dan- 
gerous.'' " 

As  I  said  these  words  I  felt  how  absurd  it  was 
and  also  I  felt  flattered — for,  really,  what  else 
could  it  be?  His  answer,  spoken  in  his  usual  dis- 
passionate undertone,  made  it  clear  that  it  was  so, 
but  not  precisel}'  as  flattering  as  I  supposed.  He 
thought  me  dangerous  with  Hermann,  more  than 
with  the  girl  herself;  but,  as  to  quarrelling,  I  saw 
at  once  how  inappropriate  the  word  was.  We  had 
no  quarrel.  Natural  forces  arc  not  quarrelsome. 
You  can't  quarrel  with  the  wind  tliat  inconveniences 
and  humiliates  you  b}'  blowing  off  j^our  hat  in  a 
street  full  of  people.  He  had  no  quarrel  with  me. 
[88] 


FALK 

Neither  would  a  boulder,  falling  on  my  head,  have 
had.  He  fell  upon  me  in  accordance  with  the  law 
by  which  he  was  moved — not  of  gravitation,  like  a 
detached  stone,  but  of  self-preservation.  Of  course 
this  is  giving  it  a  rather  wide  interpretation. 
Strictly  speaking,  he  had  existed  and  could  have 
existed  without  being  married.  Yet  he  told  me  that 
he  had  found  it  more  and  more  difficult  to  live 
alone.  Yes.  He  told  me  this  in  his  low,  careless 
voice,  to  such  a  pitch  of  confidence  had  we  arrived 
at  the  end  of  half  an  hour. 

It  took  me  just  about  that  time  to  convince  him 
that  I  had  never  dreamed  of  marrying  Hermann's 
niece.  Could  any  necessity  have  been  more  extrava- 
gant.'' And  the  difficulty  was  the  greater  because 
he  was  so  hard  hit  that  he  couldn't  imagine  any- 
body being  able  to  remain  in  a  state  of  indifference. 
Any  man  with  eyes  in  his  head,  he  seemed  to  think, 
could  not  help  coveting  so  much  bodily  magnifi- 
cence. This  profound  belief  was  conveyed  by  the 
manner  he  listened  sitting  sideways  to  the  table  and 
playing  absently  with  a  few  cards  I  had  dealt  to 
him  at  random.  And  the  more  I  saw  into  him  the 
more  I  saw  of  him.  The  wind  swayed  the  lights 
[89] 


FALK 

so  that  his  sunburnt  face,  whiskered  to  the  eyes, 
seemed  to  successively  flicker, crimson  at  me  and  to 
go  out,  I  saw  the  extraordinary  breadth  of  the 
high  cheek-bones,  the  perpendicular  style  of  the 
features,  the  massive  forehead,  steep  like  a  chiF, 
denuded  at  the  top,  largely  uncovered  at  the  tem- 
ples. The  fact  is  I  had  never  before  seen  him  with- 
out his  hat;  but  now,  as  if  my  fervour  had  made 
him  hot,  he  had  taken  it  off  and  laid  it  gently  on 
the  floor.  Something  peculiar  in  the  shape  and 
setting  of  his  yellow  eyes  gave  them  the  provoking 
silent  intensity  which  characterised  his  glance. 
But  the  face  was  thin,  furrowed,  worn ;  I  discov- 
ered that  through  the  bush  of  his  hair,  as  you  may 
detect  the  gnarled  shape  of  a  tree  trunk  lost  in  a 
dense  undergrowth.  These  overgrown  cheeks  were 
sunken.  It  was  an  anchorite's  bony  head  fitted  with 
a  Capuchin's  beard  and  adjusted  to  a  herculean 
body.  I  don't  mean  athletic.  Hercules,  I  take  it, 
was  not  an  athlete.  He  was  a  strong  man,  suscep- 
tible to  female  charms,  and  not  afraid  of  dirt. 
And  thus  with  Falk,  who  was  a  strong  man.  He 
was  extremely  strong,  just  as  the  girl  (since  I 
must  tliink  of  them  together)  was  magnificently  at- 
[90] 


FALK 

tractive  by  the  masterful  power  of  flesh  and  blood, 
expressed  in  shape,  in  size,  in  attitude — that  is  by 
a  straight  appeal  to  the  senses.  His  mind  mean- 
time, preoccupied  with  respectability,  quailed  be- 
fore Schomberg*s  tongue  and  seemed  absolutely 
impervious  to  my  protestations;  and  I  went  so  far 
as  to  protest  that  I  would  just  as  soon  think  of 
marrying  my  mother's  (dear  old  lady!)  faithful 
female  cook  as  Hermann's  niece.  Sooner,  I  pro- 
tested, in  my  desperation,  much  sooner;  but  it  did 
not  appear  that  he  saw  anything  outrageous  in  the 
proposition,  and  in  his  sceptical  immobility  he 
seemed  to  nurse  the  argument  that  at  all  events  the 
cook  was  very,  very  far  away.  It  must  be  said  that, 
just  before,  I  had  gone  wrong  by  appealing  to  the 
evidence  of  my  manner  whenever  I  called  on  board 
the  Diana.  I  had  never  attempted  to  approach  the 
girl,  or  to  speak  to  her,  or  even  to  look  at  her  in  any 
marked  way.  Nothing  could  be  clearer.  But,  as 
his  own  idea  of — let  us  say — courting,  seemed  to 
consist  precisely  in  sitting  silently  for  hours  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  beloved  object,  that  line  of  argu- 
ment inspired  him  with  distrust.  Staring  down  his 
extended  legs  he  let  out  a  grunt — as  much  as  to 
[91] 


F  A  L  K 

say,  "  Tliat's  all  very  fine,  but  you  can't  throw  dust 
in  my  eyes." 

At  last  I  was  exasperated  into  saying,  "  Why 
don't  you  put  the  matter  at  rest  by  talking  to  Her- 
mann ?  "  and  I  added  sneeringly :  "  You  don't  ex- 
pect me  perhaps  to  speak  for  you?  " 

To  this  he  said,  very  loud  for  him,  "  Would 
you?" 

And  for  the  first  time  he  lifted  his  head  to  look 
at  me  with  wonder  and  incredulity.  He  lifted  his 
head  so  sharply  that  there  could  be  no  mistake.  I 
had  touched  a  spring.  I  saw  the  whole  extent  of 
my  opportunity-,  and  could  hardly  believe  in  it. 

"AVhy.  Speak  to  .  .  .  Well,  of  course,"  I 
proceeded  very  slowly,  watching  him  with  great  at- 
tention, for,  on  my  word,  I  feared  a  joke.  "  Not, 
perhaps,  to  the  3-oung  lad}-  herself.  I  can't  speak 
German,  you  know.     But  .   .   ." 

He  interrupted  me  Avith  the  earnest  assurance 
that  Hermann  had  the  highest  opinion  of  mc ;  and 
at  once  I  felt  the  need  for  th.c  greatest  possible 
diplomacy  at  this  juncture.  So  I  demurred  just 
enough  to  draw  him  on.  Falk  sat  up,  but  except 
[92] 


FALK 

for  a  very  noticeable  enlargement  of  the  pupils, 
till  the  irises  of  his  eyes  were  reduced  to  two  narrow 
yellow  rings,  his  face,  I  should  judge,  was  incapa- 
ble of  expressing  excitement.  "  Oh,  yes !  Hermann 
did  have  the  greatest  .   .   ." 

"  Take  up  your  cards.  Here's  Schomberg  peep- 
ing at  us  through  the  blind !  "  I  said. 

We  went  through  the  motions  of  what  might 
have  been  a  game  of  ecarte.  Presently  the  intoler- 
able scandalmonger  withdrew,  probably  to  inform 
the  people  in  the  billiard-room  that  we  two  were 
gambling  on  the  verandah  Hke  mad. 

We  were  not  gambling,  but  it  was  a  game;  a 
game  in  which  I  felt  I  held  the  winning  cards.  The 
stake,  roughly  speaking,  was  the  success  of  the  voy- 
age— for  me;  and  he,  I  apprehended,  had  nothing 
to  lose.  Our  intimacy  matured  rapidly,  and  before 
many  >\  ords  had  been  exchanged  I  perceived  that 
the  excellent  Hermann  had  been  making  use  of  me. 
That  simple  and  astute  Teuton  had  been,  it  seems, 
holding  me  up  to  Falk  in  the  light  of  a  rival.  I 
was  young  enough  to  be  shocked  at  so  much  duplic- 
ity. "  Did  he  tell  you  that  in  so  many  words.''  "  I 
asked  with  indignation. 

[93] 


FALK 

Hermann  had  not.  He  had  given  hints  only; 
and  of  course  it  had  not  taken  very  much  to  alarm 
Falk;  but,  instead  of  declaring  himself,  he  had 
taken  steps  to  remove  the  family  from  under  my  in- 
fluence. He  was  perfectly  straightforward  about 
it — as  straightforward  as  a  tile  falling  on  your 
head.  There  was  no  duplicity  in  that  man;  and 
when  I  congratulated  him  on  the  perfection  of  his 
arrangements — even  to  the  bribing  of  the  wretched 
Johnson  against  me — he  had  a  genuine  movement 
of  protest.  Never  bribed.  He  knew  the  man 
wouldn't  work  as  long  as  he  had  a  few  cents  in  his 
pocket  to  get  drunk  on,  and,  naturally  (he  said — 
"  naturally  ")  he  let  him  have  a  dollar  or  two.  He 
was  himself  a  sailor,  he  said,  and  anticipated  the 
view  another  sailor,  like  myself,  was  bound  to  take. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  was  sure  that  I  should  have 
to  come  to  grief.  He  hadn't  been  knocking  about 
for  the  last  seven  years  up  and  down  that  river  for 
nothing.  It  would  have  been  no  disgrace  to  me — 
but  he  asserted  confidently  I  would  have  had  my 
ship  very  awkwardly  ashore  at  a  spot  two  miles 
below  the  Great  Pagoda.  .  .  . 

And  with  all  that  he  had  no  ill-will.  That  was 
[M] 


PALK 

evident.  This  was  a  crisis  in  which  his  only  object 
had  been  to  gain  time — I  fancy.  And  presently 
he  mentioned  that  he  had  written  for  some  jewel- 
lery, real  good  jewellery — had  written  to  Hong- 
Kong  for  it.    It  would  arrive  in  a  day  or  two. 

"  Well,  then,"  I  said  cheerily,  "  everything  is  all 
right.  All  you've  got  to  do  is  to  present  it  to  the 
lady  together  with  your  heart,  and  live  happy  ever 
after." 

Upon  the  whole  he  seemed  to  accept  that  view  as 
far  as  the  girl  was  concerned,  but  his  eyelids 
drooped.  There  was  still  something  in  the  way. 
For  one  thing  Hermann  disliked  him  so  much.  As 
to  me,  on  the  contrary,  it  seemed  as  though  he  could 
not  praise  me  enough.  Mrs.  Hermann  too.  He 
didn't  know  why  they  disliked  him  so.  It  made 
everything  most  difficult. 

I  listened  impassive,  feeling  more  and  more  dip- 
lomatic. His  speech  was  not  transparently  clear. 
He  was  one  of  those  men  who  seem  to  live,  feel, 
suffer  In  a  sort  of  mental  twilight.  But  as  to  being 
fascinated  by  the  girl  and  possessed  by  the  desire 
of  home  life  with  her — it  was  as  clear  as  daylight. 
So  much  being  at  stake,  he  was  afraid  of  putting 
[95] 


FALK 

it  to  the  hazard  of  the  declaration.  Besides,  there 
was  something  else.  And  with  Hermann  being  so 
set  against  him  ... 

"  I  see,"  I  said  thoughtfully,  while  my  heart  beat 
fast  with  the  excitement  of  my  diplomacy.  "  I 
don't  mind  sounding  Hermann.  In  fact,  to  show 
you  how  mistaken  you  were,  I  am  ready  to  do  all  I 
can  for  you  in  that  way." 

A  light  sigh  escaped  him.  He  drew  his  hands 
down  his  face,  and  it  emerged,  bon}'^,  unchanged  of 
expression,  as  if  all  the  tissues  had  been  ossified. 
All  the  passion  was  in  those  big  brown  hands.  He 
was  satisfied.  Then  there  was  that  other  matter. 
If  there  were  anybody  on  earth  it  was  I  who  could 
persuade  Hermann  to  take  a  reasonable  view !  I 
had  a  knowledge  of  the  world  and  lots  of  expe- 
rience. Hermann  admitted  this  himself.  And  then 
I  was  a  sailor  too.  Falk  thought  that  a  sail- 
or would  bo  able  to  understand  certain  things 
best.  .  .  . 

He  talked  as  if  the  Hermanns  had  been  living  all 

their  life  in  a  rural  hamlet,  and  I  alone  had  been 

capable,  with  my  practice  in  life,  of  a  large  and 

indulgent  view  of  certain  occurrences.     That  was 

[96] 


FALK 

what  my  diplomacy  was  leading  me  to.  I  began 
suddenly  to  dislike  it. 

"  I  say,  Falk,"  I  asked  quite  brusquely,  "  you 
haven't  already  a  wife  put  awa}'^  somewhere.-'  " 

The  pain  and  disgust  of  his  denial  were  very 
striking.  Couldn't  I  understand  that  he  was  as 
respectable  as  any  white  man  hereabouts;  earning 
his  living  honestly.  He  was  suffering  from  my  sus- 
picion, and  the  low  undertone  of  his  voice  made  his 
protestations  sound  very  pathetic.  For  a  moment 
he  shamed  me,  but,  my  diplomacy  notwithstanding, 
I  seemed  to  develop  a  conscience,  as  if  in  very 
truth  it  were  in  my  power  to  decide  the  success  of 
this  matrimonial  enterprise.  By  pretending  hard 
enough  we  come  to  believe  anything — anything  to 
our  advantage.  And  I  had  been  pretending  very 
hard,  because  I  meant  j^et  to  be  towed  safely  down 
the  riyer.  But  through  conscience  or  stupidity,  I 
couldn't  help  alluding  to  the  Yanlo  affair.  "  You 
acted  rather  badly  there.  Didn't  you.''  "  was  what 
I  ventured  actually  to  say — for  the  logic  of  our 
conduct  is  always  at  the  mercy  of  obscure  and  un- 
foreseen impulses. 

His  dilated  pupils  swerved  from  my  face,  glan- 
[97] 


FALK 

cing  at  the  window  with  a  sort  of  scared  fury.  We 
heard  behind  the  blinds  the  continuous  and  sudden 
clicking  of  ivory,  a  jovial  murmur  of  many  voices, 
and  Schomberg's  deep  manly  laugh. 

"  That  confounded  old  woman  of  a  hotel-keeper 
then  would  never,  never  let  it  rest ! "  Falk  ex- 
claimed. "  Well,  yes !  It  had  happened  two  years 
ago."  When  it  came  to  the  point  he  owned  he 
couldn't  make  up  his  mind  to  trust  Fred  Vanlo — 
no  sailor,  a  bit  of  a  fool  too.  He  could  not  trust 
him,  but,  to  stop  his  row,  he  had  lent  him  enough 
money  to  pay  all  his  debts  before  he  left.  I  was 
greatly  surprised  to  hear  this.  Then  Falk  could 
not  be  such  a  miser  after  all.  So  much  the  better 
for  the  girl.  For  a  time  he  sat  silent;  then  he 
picked  up  a  card,  and  while  looking  at  it  he 
said: 

"  You  need  not  think  of  anything  bad.  It  was 
an  accident.    I've  been  unfortunate  once." 

"  Then  in  heaven's  name  say  nothing  about  it." 

As  soon  as  these  words  were  out  of  my  mouth  I 
fancied  I  had  said  something  immoral.     He  shook 
his  head  negatively.     It  had  to  be  told.     He  con- 
sidered it  proper  that  the  relations  of  the  lady 
[98] 


FALK 

should  know.  No  doubt — I  thought  to  myself — 
had  Miss  Vanlo  not  been  thirty  and  damaged  by  the 
climate  he  would  have  found  it  possible  to  entrust 
Fred  Vanlo  with  this  confidence.  And  then  the  fig- 
ure of  Hermann's  niece  appeared  before  my  mind's 
eye,  with  the  wealth  of  her  opulent  form,  her  rich 
youth,  her  lavish  strength.  With  that  powerful 
and  immaculate  vitality,  her  girlish  form  must  have 
shouted  aloud  of  life  to  that  man,  whereas  poor 
Miss  Vanlo  could  only  sing  sentimental  songs  to 
the  strumming  of  a  piano. 

"  And  that  Hermann  hates  me,  I  know  it ! "  he 
cried  in  his  undertone,  with  a  sudden  recrudescence 
of  anxiety.  "  I  must  tell  them.  It  is  proper  that 
they  should  know.    You  would  say  so  yourself." 

He  then  murmured  an  utterly  mysterious  allu- 
sion to  the  necessity  for  peculiar  domestic  arrange- 
ments. Though  my  curiosity  was  excited  I  did  not 
want  to  hear  any  of  his  confidences.  I  feared  he 
might  give  me  a  piece  of  information  that  would 
make  my  assumed  role  of  match-maker  odious — 
however  unreal  it  was.  I  was  aware  that  he  could 
have  the  girl  for  the  asking;  and  keeping  down  a 
desire  to  laugh  in  his  face,  I  expressed  a  confident 
[99] 


FALK 

belief  in  my  ability  to  argue  away  Hermann's  dis- 
like for  him.  "  I  am  sure  I  can  make  it  all  right," 
I  said.     He  looked  very  pleased. 

And  when  we  rose  not  a  word  had  been  said  about 
towage !  Not  a  word !  The  game  was  won  and  the 
honour  was  safe.  Oh !  blessed  white  cotton  um- 
brella !  We  shook  hands,  and  I  w^as  holding  myself 
with  difficulty  from  breaking  into  a  step  dance  of 
joy  when  he  came  back,  striding  all  the  length  of 
the  verandah,  and  said  doubtfully : 

"  I  say,  captain,  I  have  your  word?  You — 3-ou 
— won't  turn  round  ?  " 

Heavens!  The  fright  he  gave  me.  Behind  his 
tone  of  doubt  there  was  something  desperate  and 
menacing.  The  infatuated  ass.  But  I  was  equal  to 
the  situation. 

"  My  dear  Falk,"  I  said,  beginning  to  lie  with 
a  glibness  and  effrontery  that  amazed  me  even  at 
the  time — "  confidence  for  confidence."  (He  had 
made  no  confidences. )  "I  will  tell  3'ou  that  I  am 
already  engaged  to  an  extremely  charming  girl  at 
home,  and  so  you  understand.   .   .   ." 

He  caught  my  hand  and  wrung  it  in  a  crushing 
grip. 

[100] 


FALK 

"  Pardon  me.  I  feel  it  every  day  more  difficult 
to  live  alone  .   .   ." 

"  On  rice  and  fish,"  I  interrupted  smartly,  gig- 
gling with  the  sheer  nervousness  of  a  danger  es- 
caped. 

He  dropped  my  hand  as  if  it  had  become  sud- 
denly red  hot.  A  moment  of  profound  silence  en- 
sued, as  though  something  extraordinary  had  hap- 
pened. 

"  I  promise  you  to  obtain  Hermann's  consent," 
I  faltered  out  at  last,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  he 
could  not  help  seeing  through  that  humbug- 
ging promise.  "  If  there's  anything  else  to  get 
over  I  shall  endeavour  to  stand  by  you,"  I  conceded 
further,  feeling  somehow  defeated  and  overborne; 
"  but  you  must  do  your  best  yourself." 

"  I  have  been  unfortunate  once,"  he  muttered 
unemotionally,  and  turning  his  back  on  me  he  went 
away,  thumping  slowly  tlie  plank  floor  as  If  his  feet 
had  been  shod  with  Iron. 

Next  morning,  however,  he  was  lively  enough  as 
man-boat,  a  combination  of  splashing  and  shout- 
ing; of  the  insolent  commotion  below  with  the 
steady  overbearing  glare  of  the  silent  head-piece 
[101] 


yit.-  FALK 

above.  He  turned  us  out  most  unnecessarily  at  an 
ungodly  hour,  but  it  was  nearly  eleven  in  the  morn- 
ing before  he  brought  me  up  a  cable's  length  from 
Hermann's  ship.  And  he  did  it  very  badly  too,  in 
a  hurry,  and  nearly  contriving  to  miss  altogether 
the  patch  of  good  holding  ground,  because,  for- 
sooth, he  had  caught  sight  of  Hermann's  niece  on 
the  poop.  And  so  did  I;  and  probably  as  soon  as 
he  had  seen  her  himself.  I  saw  the  modest,  sleek 
glory  of  the  tawny  head,  and  the  full,  grey  shape 
of  the  girlish  print  frock  she  filled  so  perfectly,  so 
satisfactorily,  with  the  seduction  of  unfaltering 
curves — a  very  nymph  of  Diana  the  Huntress. 
And  Diana  the  ship  sat,  high-walled  and  as  solid 
as  an  institution,  on  the  smooth  level  of  the  water, 
the  most  uninspiring  and  respectable  craft  upon 
the  seas,  useful  and  ugly,  devoted  to  the  support 
of  domestic  virtues  like  any  grocer's  shop  on  shore. 
At  once  Falk  steamed  away;  for  there  was  some 
work  for  him  to  do.  He  would  return  in  the  even- 
ing. 

He  ranged  close  by  us,  passing  out  dead  slow, 
without  a  hail.     The  beat  of  the  paddle-wheels  re- 
verberating amongst  the  stony  islets,  as  if  from  th« 
[102] 


FALK 

ruined  walls  of  a  vast  arena,  filled  the  anchorage 
confusedly  with  the  clapping  sounds  of  a  mighty 
and  leisurely  applause.  Abreast  of  Hermann's 
ship  he  stopped  the  engines;  and  a  profound  si- 
lence reigned  over  the  rocks,  the  shore  and  the  sea, 
for  the  time  it  took  him  to  raise  his  hat  aloft  before 
the  nymph  of  the  grey  print  frock.  I  had  snatched 
up  my  binoculars,  and  I  can  answer  for  it  she  didn't 
stir  a  limb,  standing  by  the  rail  shapely  and  erect, 
with  one  of  her  hands  grasping  a  rope  at  the  height 
of  her  head,  while  the  way  of  the  tug  carried  slowly 
past  her  the  lingering  and  profound  homage  of  the 
man.  There  was  for  me  an  enormous  significance 
in  the  scene,  the  sense  of  having  witnessed  a  solemn 
declaration.  The  die  was  cast.  After  such  a  man- 
ifestation he  couldn't  back  out.  And  I  reflected 
that  it  was  nothing  whatever  to  me  now.  With  a 
rush  of  black  smoke  belching  suddenly  out  of  the 
funnel,  and  a  mad  swirl  of  paddle-wheels  provoking 
a  burst  of  weird  and  precipitated  clapping,  the  tug 
shot  out  of  the  desolate  arena.  The  rocky  islets 
lay  on  the  sea  like  the  heaps  of  a  cyclopean  ruin 
on  a  plain ;  the  centipedes  and  scorpions  lurked  un- 
der the  stones ;  there  was  not  a  single  blade  of  grass 
[103] 


FALK 

in  sight  anywhere,  not  a  single  lizard  sunning  him- 
self on  a  boulder  by  the  shore.  When  I  looked 
again  at  Hermann's  ship  the  girl  had  disappeared. 
I  could  not  detect  the  smallest  dot  of  a  bird  on  the 
immense  sky,  and  the  flatness  of  the  land  continued 
the  flatness  of  the  sea  to  the  naked  line  of  the  hori- 
zon. 

This  is  the  setting  now  inseparably  connected 
with  m}'  knowledge  of  Falk's  misfortune.  My  di- 
plomacy had  brought  me  there,  and  now  I  had  only 
to  wait  the  time  for  taking  up  the  role  of  an  ambas- 
sador. My  diplomacy  was  a  success ;  my  ship  was 
safe ;  old  Gambril  would  probably  hve ;  a  feeble 
sound  of  a  tapping  hammer  came  intermittently 
from  the  Diana.  During  the  afternoon  I  looked 
at  times  at  the  old  homely  ship,  the  faithful  nurse 
of  Hermann's  progeny,  or  yawned  towards  the  dis- 
tant temple  of  Buddha,  like  a  lonely  hillock  on  the 
plain,  where  shaven  priests  cherish  the  thoughts  of 
that  Annihilation  which  is  the  worthy  reward  of  us 
all.  Unfortunate !  Pie  had  been  unfortunate  once. 
Well,  that  was  not  so  bad  as  life  goes.  And  what 
the  devil  could  be  the  nature  of  that  misfortune.'* 
I  remembered  that  I  had  known  a  man  before  who 
[104] 


FALK 

had  declared  himself  to  have  fallen,  years  ago,  a 
victim  to  misfortune;  but  this  misfortune,  whose 
effects  appeared  permanent  (he  looked  desper- 
ately hard  up)  when  considered  dispassionately, 
seemed  indistinguishable  from  a  breach  of  trust. 
Could  it  be  something  of  that  nature?  Apart, 
however,  from  the  utter  improbability  that  he 
would  offer  to  talk  of  it  even  to  his  future  uncle- 
in-law,  I  had  a  strange  feeling  that  Falk's  physique 
unfitted  him  for  that  sort  of  delinquency.  As  the 
person  of  Hermann's  niece  exhaled  the  profound 
physical  charm  of  feminine  form,  so  her  ador- 
er's big  frame  embodied  to  my  senses  the  hard, 
straight  masculinity  that  would  conceivably  kill 
but  would  not  condescend  to  cheat.  The  thing 
was  obvious.  I  might  just  as  well  have  suspected 
the  girl  of  a  curvature  of  the  spine.  And  I  per- 
ceived that  the  sun  was  about  to  set. 

The  smoke  of  Falk's  tug  hove  in  sight,  far 
away  at  the  mouth  of  the  river.  It  was  time  for 
me  to  assume  the  character  of  an  ambassador,  and 
the  negotiation  would  not  be  difficult  except  in  the 
matter  of  keeping  my  countenance.  It  was  all  too 
extravagantly  nonsensical,  and  I  conceived  that  it 
[105] 


FALK 

would  be  best  to  compose  for  myself  a  grave  de- 
meanour. I  practised  this  in  my  boat  as  I  went 
along,  but  the  bashfulness  that  came  secretly  upon 
me  the  moment  I  stepped  on  the  deck  of  the  Diana 
is  inexplicable.  As  soon  as  we  had  exchanged 
greetings  Hermann  asked  me  eagerly  if  I  knew 
whether  Falk  had  found  his  white  parasol. 

"  He's  going  to  bring  it  to  you  himself  directly," 
I  said  with  great  solemnity.  "  Meantime  I  am 
charged  with  an  important  message  for  which  he 
begs  your  favourable  consideration.  He  is  in  love 
with  your  niece.  .  .  ." 

"  Ach  So!  **  he  hissed  with  an  animosity  that 
made  my  assumed  gravity  change  into  the  most 
genuine  concern.  What  meant  this  tone?  And  I 
hurried  on. 

"  He  wishes,  with  your  consent  of  course,  to  ask 
her  to  marry  him  at  once — ^before  you  leave  here, 
that  is.    He  would  speak  to  the  Consul." 

Hermann  sat  down  and  smoked  violently.  Five 
minutes  passed  in  that  furious  meditation,  and 
then,  taking  the  long  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  he 
burst  into  a  hot  diatribe  against  Falk — against  his 
cupidity,  his  stupidity  (a  fellow  that  can  hardly 
[106] 


FALK 

be  got  to  say  "  yes  "  or  "  no  "  to  the  simplest  ques- 
tion)— against  his  outrageous  treatment  of  the 
shipping  in  port  (because  he  saw  they  were  at  his 
mercy) — and  against  his  manner  of  walking, 
which  to  his  (Hermann's)  mind  showed  a  conceit 
positively  unbearable.  The  damage  to  the  old 
Diana  was  not  forgotten,  of  course,  and  there  was 
nothing  of  any  nature  said  or  done  by  Falk  (even 
to  tlie  last  offer  of  refreshment  in  the  hotel)  that 
did  not  seem  to  have  been  a  cause  of  offence. 
"Had  the  cheek"  to  drag  him  (Hermann)  into 
that  coffee-room ;  as  though  a  drink  from  him  could 
make  up  for  forty-seven  dollars  and  fifty  cents  of 
damage  in  the  cost  of  wood  alone — not  counting 
two  days'  work  for  the  carpenter.  Of  course  he 
would  not  stand  in  the  girl's  way.  He  was  going 
home  to  Germany.  There  were  plenty  of  poor 
girls  walking  about  in  Germany. 

"  He's  very  much  in  love,"  was  all  I  found  to 
say. 

"  Yes,"  he  cried.  "  And  it  is  time  too  after  mak- 
ing himself  and  me  talked  about  ashore  the  last 
voyage  I  was  here,  and  then  now  again ;  coming  on 
[107] 


FALK 

board  every  evening  unsettling  the  girl's  mind,  and 
saying  nothing.     What  sort  of  conduct  is  that?  " 

The  seven  thousand  dollars  the  fellow  was  always 
talking  about  did  not,  in  his  opinion,  justify  such 
behaviour.  Moreover,  nobody  had  seen  them.  He 
(Hermann)  seriously  doubted  if  there  were  seven 
thousand  cents,  and  the  tug,  no  doubt,  was  mort- 
gaged up  to  the  top  of  the  funnel  to  the  firm  of 
Siegers.  But  let  that  pass.  He  wouldn't  stand  in 
the  girl's  way.  Her  head  was  so  turned  that  she 
had  become  no  good  to  them  of  late.  Quite  unable 
even  to  put  the  children  to  bed  without  her  aunt. 
It  was  bad  for  the  children ;  they  got  unruly :  and 
yesterday  he  actually  had  to  give  Gustav  a  thrash- 
ing. 

For  that,  too,  Falk  was  made  responsible  ap- 
parentl3\  And  looking  at  my  Hermann's  heavy, 
puffy,  good-natured  face,  I  knew  he  would  not  ex- 
ert himself  till  greatly  exasperated,  and,  therefore, 
would  thrash  very  hard,  and  being  fat  would  resent 
the  necessity.  How  Falk  had  managed  to  turn  the 
girl's  head  was  more  difficult  to  understand.  I  sup- 
posed Hermann  would  know.  And  then  hadn't 
there  been  Miss  Vanlo?  It  could  not  be  his  silvery 
[108] 


FALK 

tongue,  or  the  subtle  seduction  of  his  manner;  he 
had  no  more  of  what  is  called  "  manner  "  than  an 
animal — which,  however,  on  the  other  hand,  is 
never,  and  can  never  be  called  vulgar.  Therefore 
it  must  have  been  his  bodily  appearance,  exhibiting 
a  virility  of  nature  as  exaggerated  as  his  beard,  and 
resembling  a  sort  of  constant  ruthlessness.  It  was 
seen  in  the  very  manner  he  lolled  in  the  chair.  He 
meant  no  offence,  but  his  intercourse  was  charac- 
terised by  that  sort  of  frank  disregard  of  suscepti- 
bilities a  man  of  seven  foot  six,  living  in  a  world  of 
dwarfs,  would  naturally  assume,  without  in  the 
least  wishing  to  be  unkind.  But  amongst  men  of 
his  own  stature,  or  ney-rly,  this  frank  use  of  his  ad- 
vantages, in  such  matters  as  the  awful  towage  bills 
for  instance,  caused  much  impotent  gnashing  of 
teeth.  When  attentively  considered  it  seemed  ap- 
palling at  times.  He  was  a  strange  beast.  But 
maybe  women  liked  it.  Seen  in  that  light  he  was 
well  worth  taming,  and  I  suppose  every  woman  at 
the  bottom  of  her  heart  considers  herself  as  a  tamer 
of  strange  beasts.  But  Hermann  arose  with  pre- 
cipitation to  carry  the  news  to  his  wife.  I  had 
barely  the  time,  as  he  made  for  the  cabin  door,  to 
[109] 


FALK 

grab  him  by  the  seat  of  his  inexpressibles.  I 
begged  him  to  wait  till  Falk  in  person  had  spoken 
with  him.  There  remained  some  small  matter  to 
talk  over,  as  I  understood. 

He  sat  down  again  at  once,  full  of  suspicion. 

"  What  matter?  "  he  said  surlily.  "  I  have  had 
enough  of  his  nonsense.  There's  no  matter  at  all, 
as  he  knows  very  well ;  the  girl  has  nothing  in  the 
world.  She  came  to  us  in  one  thin  dress  when  my 
brother  died,  and  I  have  a  growing  family." 

"  It  can't  be  anything  of  that  kind,"  I  opined. 
**  He's  desperately  enamoured  of  your  niece.  I 
don't  know  why  he  did  not  say  so  before.  Upon 
my  word,  I  believe  it  is  because  he  was  afraid  to 
lose,  perhaps,  the  felicity  of  sitting  near  her  on 
your  quarter  deck." 

I  intimated  my  conviction  that  his  love  was  so 
great  as  to  be  in  a  sense  cowardly.  The  effects  of 
a  great  passion  are  unaccountable.  It  has  been 
known  to  make  a  man  timid.  But  Hermann  looked 
at  me  as  if  I  had  foolishly  raved ;  and  the  twilight 
was  dying  out  rapidly. 

"  You  don't  believe  in  passion,  do  you,  Her- 
mann? "  I  said  cheerily.  "  The  passion  of  fear  will 
["0] 


make  a  cornered  rat  courageous.  Falk's  in  a  cor- 
ner. He  will  take  her  off  your  hands  in  one  tliin 
frock  just  as  she  came  to  you.  And  after  ten  years* 
service  it  isn't  a  bad  bargain,"  I  added. 

Far  from  taking  offence,  he  resumed  his  air  of 
civic  virtue.  The  sudden  night  came  upon  hira 
while  he  stared  placidly  along  the  deck,  bringing 
in  contact  with  his  thick  lips,  and  taking  away 
again  after  a  jet  of  smoke,  the  curved  mouthpiece 
fitted  to  the  stem  of  his  pipe.  The  night  came 
upon  him  and  buried  in  haste  his  whiskers,  his  glob- 
ular eyes,  his  puffy  pale  face,  his  fat  knees  and  the 
vast  flat  slippers  on  his  fatherly  feet.  Only  his 
short  arms  in  respectable  white  shirt-sleeves  re- 
mained very  visible,  propped  up  like  the  flippers  of 
a  seal  reposing  on  the  strand. 

"  Falk  wouldn't  settle  anything  about  repairs. 
Told  jne  to  find  out  first  how  much  wood  I  should 
require  and  he  would  see,"  he  remarked ;  and  after 
he  had  spat  peacefully  in  the  dusk  we  heard  over 
the  water  the  beat  of  the  tug's  floats.  There  is,  on 
a  calm  night,  nothing  more  suggestive  of  fierce  and 
headlong  haste  than  the  rapid  sound  made  by  the 
paddle-wheels  of  a  boat  threshing  her  way  through 
[111] 


FALK 

a  quiet  sea ;  and  the  approach  of  Falk  towards  his 
fate  seemed  to  be  urged  by  an  impatient  and  pas- 
sionate desire.  The  engines  must  have  been  driven 
to  the  very  utmost  of  their  revolutions.  We  heard 
them  slow  down  at  last,  and,  vaguely,  the  white 
hull  of  the  tug  appeared  moving  against  the  black 
islets,  whilst  a  slow  and  rhythmical  clapping  as  of 
thousands  of  hands  rose  on  all  sides.  It  ceased  all 
at  once,  just  before  Falk  brought  her  up.  A  sin- 
gle brusque  splash  was  followed  by  the  long  drawn 
rumbling  of  iron  links  running  through  the  hawse 
pipe.  Then  a  solemn  silence  fell  upon  the  Road- 
stead. 

"  He  will  soon  be  here,"  I  murmured,  and  after 
that  we  waited  for  him  without  a  word.  Meantime, 
raising  my  e^'es,  I  beheld  the  glitter  of  a  lofty  sky 
above  the  Diana^s  mastheads.  The  multitude  of 
stars  gathered  into  clusters,  in  rows,  in  lines,  in 
masses,  in  groups,  shone  all  together,  unanimously 
— and  the  few  isolated  ones,  blazing  b}'  themselves 
in  the  midst  of  dark  patches,  seemed  to  be  of  a  su- 
perior kind  and  of  an  inextinguishable  nature.  But 
long  striding  footsteps  were  heard  hastening  along 
the  deck ;  the  high  bulwarks  of  the  Diana  made  a 
[112] 


FALK 

deeper  darkness.  We  rose  from  our  chairs  qjiickly, 
and  Falk,  appearing  before  us,  all  in  white,  stood 
still. 

Nobody  spoke  at  first,  as  though  we  had  been 
covered  with  confusion.  His  arrival  was  fiery,  but 
his  white  bulk,  of  indefinite  shape  and  without  fea- 
tures, made  him  loom  up  like  a  man  of  snow. 

"  The  captain  here  has  been  telling  me  .  .  ." 
Hermann  began  in  a  homely  and  amicable  voice; 
and  Falk  had  a  low,  nervous  laugh.  His  cool,  neg- 
ligent undertone  had  no  inflexions,  but  the  strength 
of  a  powerful  emotion  made  him  ramble  in  his 
speech.  He  had  always  desired  a  home.  It  was 
difficult  to  live  alone,  though  he  was  not  answera- 
ble. He  was  domestic;  there  had  been  difficulties; 
but  since  he  had  seen  Hermann's  niece  he  found 
that  it  had  become  at  last  impossible  to  live  by  him- 
self. "  I  mean — impossible,"  he  repeated  with  no 
sort  of  emphasis  and  only  with  the  slightest  of 
pauses,  but  the  word  fell  into  my  mind  with  the 
force  of  a  new  idea. 

"  I  have  not  said  anything  to  her  yet,"  Hermann 
observed  quietl}'.  And  Falk  dismissed  this  b}'  a 
"  That's  all  right.  Certainly.  Very  proper," 
[113] 


FALK 

There  was  a  necessity  for  perfect  frankness — In 
marrj'ing,  especially.  Hermann  seemed  attentive, 
but  he  seized  the  first  opportunity  to  ask  us  into  the 
cabin.  "  And  by-the-by,  Falk,"  he  said  innocent- 
ly, as  we  passed  in,  "  the  timber  came  to  no  less 
than  forty-seven  dollars  and  fifty  cents." 

Falk,  uncovering  his  head,  lingered  in  the  pas- 
sage. "  Some  other  time,"  he  said ;  and  Hermann 
nudged  me  angrily — I  don't  know  why.  The  girl 
alone  in  the  cabin  sat  sewing  at  some  distance  from 
the  table.  Falk  stopped  short  in  the  doorway. 
Without  a  word,  without  a  sign,  without  the  slight- 
est inclination  of  his  bony  head,  by  the  silent  in- 
tensity of  his  look  alone,  he  seemed  to  lay  his  her- 
culean frame  at  her  feet.  Her  hands  sank  slowly 
on  her  lap,  and  raising  her  clear  eyes,  she  let  her 
soft,  beaming  glance  enfold  him  from  head  to  foot 
like  a  slow  and  pale  caress.  He  was  very  hot  when 
he  sat  down;  she,  with  bowed  head,  went  on  with 
her  sewing ;  her  neck  was  very  white  under  the  light 
of  the  lamp ;  but  Falk,  hiding  his  face  in  the  palms 
of  his  hands,  shuddered  faintly.  He  drew  them 
down,  even  to  his  beard,  and  his  uncovered  eyes  as- 
tonished me  by  their  tense  and  irrational  expres- 
[114] 


FALK 

sion — as  though  he  had  just  swallowed  a  heavy 
gulp  of  alcohol.  It  passed  away  while  he  was 
binding  us  to  secrecy.  Not  that  he  cared,  but  he 
did  not  like  to  be  spoken  about ;  and  I  looked  at  the 
girl's  marvellous,  at  her  wonderful,  at  her  regal 
hair,  plaited  tight  into  that  one  astonishing  and 
maidenly  tress.  Whenever  she  moved  her  M'ell- 
shaped  head  it  would  stir  stiffly  to  and  fro  on  her 
back.  The  thin  cotton  sleeve  fitted  the  irreproach- 
able roundness  of  her  arm  like  a  skin ;  and  her  very 
dress,  stretched  on  her  bust,  seemed  to  palpitate 
like  a  living  tissue  with  the  strength  of  vitality  ani- 
mating her  body.  How  good  her  complexion  was, 
the  outline  of  her  soft  cheek  and  the  small  convo- 
luted conch  of  her  rosy  ear !  To  pull  her  needle  she 
kept  the  little  finger  apart  from  the  others;  it 
seemed  a  waste  of  power  to  see  her  sewing — eter- 
nally sewing — with  that  industrious  and  precise 
movement  of  her  arm,  going  on  eternally  upon  all 
the  oceans,  under  all  the  skies,  in  innumerable  har- 
bours. And  suddenly  I  heard  Falk's  voice  declare 
that  he  could  not  marry  a  woman  unless  she  knew 
of  something  in  his  life  that  had  happened  ten 
years  ago.  It  was  an  accident.  An  unfortunate  ac- 

[lis] 


FALK 

cident.  It  would  affect  the  domestic  arrangements 
of  their  home,  but,  once  told,  it  need  not  be  alluded 
to  again  for  the  rest  of  their  lives.  "  I  should  want 
my  wife  to  feel  for  me,"  he  said.  "  It  has  made  me 
unhappy."  And  how  could  he  keep  the  knowledge 
of  it  to  himself — he  asked  us — perhaps  through 
years  and  years  of  companionship?  What  sort  of 
companionship  would  that  be.''  He  had  thought  it 
over.  A  wife  must  know.  Tlien  why  not  at  once? 
He  counted  on  Hermann's  kindness  for  presenting 
the  affair  in  the  best  possible  light.  And  Her- 
mann's countenance,  mystified  before,  became  very 
sour.  He  stole  an  inquisitive  glance  at  me.  I 
shook  my  head  blankly.  Some  people  thought, 
Falk  went  on,  that  such  an  experience  changed  a 
man  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  He  couldn't  say.  It 
was  hard,  awful,  and  not  to  be  forgotten,  but  he 
did  not  think  himself  a  worse  man  than  before. 
Only  he  talked  in  his  sleep  now,  he  believed.  .  .  . 
At  last  I  began  to  think  he  had  accidentally  killed 
some  one;  perhaps  a  friend — ^his  own  father  may- 
be ;  when  he  went  on  to  say  that  probably  we  were 
aware  he  never  touched  meat.  Throughout  he 
spoke  English,  of  course  on  my  account. 
[116] 


FALK 

He  swayed  forward  heavily. 

The  girl,  with  her  hands  raised  before  her  pale 
eyes,  was  threading  her  needle.  He  glanced  at  her, 
and  his  mighty  trunk  overshadowed  the  table, 
bringing  nearer  to  us  the  breadth  of  his  shoulders, 
the  thickness  of  his  neck,  and  that  incongruous,  an- 
chorite head,  burnt  in  the  desert,  hollowed  and  lean 
as  if  by  excesses  of  vigils  and  fasting.  His  beard 
flowed  imposingly  downwards,  out  of  sight,  be- 
tween the  two  brown  hands  gripping  the  edge  of 
the  table,  and  his  persistent  glance  made  sombre  by 
the  wide  dilations  of  the  pupils,  fascinated. 

"  Imagine  to  yourselves,"  he  said  in  his  ordinary 
voice,  "  that  I  have  eaten  man." 

I  could  only  ejaculate  a  faint  "Ah!"  of  com- 
plete enlightenment.  But  Hermann,  dazed  by  the 
excessive  shock,  actually  murmured,  "  Himmel ! 
Wliatfor?" 

"  It  was  my  terrible  misfortune  to  do  so,"  said 
Falk  In  a  measured  undertone.  The  girl,  uncon- 
scious, sewed  on.  Mrs.  Hermann  was  absent  in 
one  of  the  state-rooms,  sitting  up  with  Lena,  who 
was  feverish ;  but  Hermann  suddenly  put  both  his 
hands  up  with  a  jerk.  The  embroidered  calotte 
[117] 


FALK 

fell,  and,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  he  had  rum- 
pled his  hair  all  ends  up  in  a  most  extravagant 
manner.  In  this  state  he  strove  to  speak ;  with 
every  effort  his  eyes  seemed  to  start  further  out  of 
their  sockets;  his  head  looked  like  a  mop.  He 
choked,  gasped,  swallowed,  and  managed  to  shriek 
out  the  one  word,  "  Beast !  " 

From  that  moment  till  Falk  went  out  of  the  cab- 
in the  girl,  with  her  hands  folded  on  the  work  lying 
in  her  lap,  never  took  her  eyes  off  him.  His  own, 
in  the  blindness  of  his  heart,  darted  aU  over  the 
cabin,  only  seeking  to  avoid  the  sight  of  Hermann's 
raving.  It  was  ridiculous,  and  was  made  almost 
terrible  by  the  stillness  of  every  other  person  pres- 
ent. It  was  contemptible,  and  was  made  appalling 
by  the  man's  overmastering  horror  of  this  awful 
sincerity,  coming  to  him  suddenly,  with  the  confes- 
sion of  such  a  fact.  He  walked  with  great  strides ; 
he  gasped.  He  wanted  to  know  from  Falk  how 
dared  he  to  come  and  tell  him  this.''  Did  he  think 
himself  a  proper  person  to  be  sitting  in  this  cabin 
where  his  wife  ana  chiidren  lived?  Tell  his  niece! 
Expected  him  to  tell  his  niece !  His  own  brother's 
daughter !    Shameless  !    Did  I  ever  hear  tell  of  sud* 


FALK 

impudence  ? — he  appealed  to  me.  "  This  man  here 
ought  to  have  gone  and  hidden  himself  out  of  sight 
instead  of  .  .  ." 

"  But  it's  a  great  misfortune  for  me.  But  it's  a 
great  misfortune  for  me,"  Falk  would  ejaculate 
from  time  to  time. 

However,  Hermann  kept  on  running  frequently 
against  the  corners  of  the  table.  At  last  he  lost  a 
slipper,  and  crossing  his  arms  on  his  breast,  walked 
up  with  one  stocking  foot  very  close  to  Falk,  in  or- 
der to  ask  him  whether  he  did  think  there  was  any- 
where on  earth  a  woman  abandoned  enough  to  mate 
with  such  a  monster.  "  Did  he  ?  Did  he  ?  Did 
he?  "  I  tried  to  restrain  him.  He  tore  himself  out 
of  my  hands ;  he  found  his  slipper,  and,  endeavour- 
ing to  put  it  on,  stormed  standing  on  one  leg — 
and  Falk,  with  a  face  unmoved  and  averted 
eyes,  grasped  all  his  mighty  beard  in  one  vast 
palm. 

"  Was  it  right  then  for  me  to  die  myself?  "  he 
asked  thoughtfully.  I  laid  my  hand  on  his  shoul- 
der. 

"  Go  away,"  I  whispered  imperiously,  without 
wiy  clear  reason  for  this  advice,  except  that  } 

[119] 


FALK 

wished  to  put  an  end  to  Hermann's  odious  noise. 
«  Go  away." 

He  looked  searchingly  for  a  moment  at  Hermann 
before  he  made  a  move.  I  left  the  cabin  too  to  see 
him  out  of  the  ship.  But  he  hung  about  the  quar- 
ter-deck. 

"  It  is  my  misfortune,"  he  said  in  a  steady 
voice. 

**  You  were  stupid  to  blurt  it  out  in  such  a  man- 
ner. After  all,  we  don't  hear  such  confidences 
every  day." 

"  What  does  the  man  mean  ?  "  he  mused  in  deep 
undertones.  "  Somebody  had  to  die — but  why 
me?" 

He  remained  stiU  for  a  time  in  the  dark — silent ; 
almost  invisible.  All  at  once  he  pinned  my  elbows 
to  m}-^  sides.  I  felt  utterly  powerless  in  his  grip, 
and  his  voice,  whispering  in  my  ear,  vibrated. 

"  It's  worse  than  hunger.  Captain,  do  you  know 
what  that  means?  And  I  could  kill  then — or  be 
killed.  I  wish  the  crowbar  had  smashed  my  skull 
ten  years  ago.  And  I've  got  to  live  now.  Without 
her.  Do  you  understand?  Perhaps  many  years. 
But  how?  What  can  be  done?  If  I  had  allowed 
[120] 


FALK 

myself  to  look  at  her  once  I  would  have  carried  her 
off  before  that  man  in  my  hands — like  this." 

I  felt  myself  snatched  off  the  deck,  then  suddenly 
dropped — and  I  staggered  backwards,  feeling 
bewildered  and  bruised.  What  a  man !  All  was 
still;  he  was  gone.  I  heard  Hermann's  voice  de- 
claiming in  the  cabin,  and  I  went  in. 

I  could  not  at  first  make  out  a  single  word,  but 
Mrs.  Hermann,  who,  attracted  by  the  noise,  had 
come  in  some  time  before,  with  an  expression  of 
surprise  and  mild  disapproval  depicted  broadly  on 
her  face,  was  giving  now  all  the  signs  of  profound, 
helpless  agitation.  Her  husband  shot  a  string  of 
guttural  words  at  her,  and  instantly  putting  out 
one  hand  to  the  bulkhead  as  if  to  save  herself  from 
falling,  she  clutched  the  loose  bosom  of  her  dress 
with  the  other.  He  harangued  the  two  women  ex- 
traordinaril3^,with  much  of  his  shirt  hanging  out  of 
his  waistbelt,  stamping  his  foot,  turning  from  one 
to  the  other,  sometimes  throwing  both  his  arms  to- 
gether, straight  up  above  his  rumpled  hair,  and 
keeping  them  in  that  position  while  he  rllercd  a 
passage  of  loud  denunciation;  at  others  folding 
them  tight  across  his  breast — and  then  he  hissed 
[121] 


FALK 

v^'ith  indignation,  elevating  liis  shoulders  and  pro- 
truding his  head.     The  girl  was  crying. 

She  had  not  changed  her  attitude.  From  her 
steady  eyes  that,  following  Falk  in  his  retreat,  had 
remained  fixed  wistfully  on  the  cabin  door,  the 
tears  fell  rapid,  thick,  on  her  hands,  on  the  work  in 
her  lap,  warm  and  gentle  like  a  shower  in  spring. 
She  wept  without  grimacing,  without  noise — very 
touching,  very  quiet,  with  something  more  of  pity 
than  of  pain  in  her  face,  as  one  weeps  in  compassion 
rather  than  in  grief — and  Hermann,  before  her, 
declaimed.  I  caught  several  times  the  word 
"  Mensch,"  man ;  and  also  "  Fressen,"  which  last  I 
looked  up  afterwards  in  my  dictionary.  It  means 
"  Devour."  Hermann  seemed  to  be  requesting  an 
answer  of  some  sort  from  her;  his  whole  body 
swayed.  She  remained  mute  and  perfectly  still; 
at  last  his  agitation  gained  her ;  she  put  the  palms 
of  her  hands  together,  her  full  lips  parted,  no 
sound  came.  His  voice  scolded  shrilly,  his  arms 
went  like  a  windmill — suddenly  he  shook  a  thick 
fist  at  her.  She  burst  out  into  loud  sobs.  He 
seemed  stupefied. 

Mrs.   Hermann   rushed  forward  babbling  rap- 


FALK 

Idly.  The  two  women  fell  on  each  other's  necks, 
and,  with  an  arm  round  her  niece's  waist,  she  led  her 
away.  Her  own  eyes  were  simply  streaming,  her 
face  was  flooded.  She  shook  her  head  back  at  me 
negatively,  I  wonder  why  to  this  day.  The  girl's 
head  dropped  heavily  on  her  shoulder.  They  dis- 
appeared. 

Then  Hermann  sat  down  and  stared  at  the  cabin 
floor. 

"  We  don't  know  all  the  circumstances,"  I  ven- 
tured to  break  the  silence.  He  retorted  tartly  that 
he  didn't  want  to  know  of  any.  According  to  his 
ideas  no  circumstances  could  excuse  a  crime — and 
certainly  not  such  a  crime.  This  was  the  opinion 
generally  received.  The  duty  of  a  human  being 
was  to  starve.  Falk  therefore  was  a  beast,  an  ani- 
mal; base,  low,  vile,  despicable,  shameless,  and  de- 
ceitful. He  had  been  deceiving  him  since  last  year. 
He  was,  however,  inclined  to  think  that  Falk  must 
have  gone  mad  quite  recently;  for  no  sane  person, 
without  necessity,  uselessly,  for  no  earthly  reason, 
and  regardless  of  another's  self-respect  and  peace 
of  mind,  would  own  to  having  devoured  human 
flesh.  "  Why  tell?  "  he  cried.  *'  Who  was  asking 
[128] 


FALK 

him  ?  "  It  showed  Falk's  brutality  because  after 
all  he  had  selfishly  caused  him  (Hermann)  much 
pain.  He  would  have  preferred  not  to  know  that 
such  an  unclean  creature  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
caressing  liis  children.  He  hoped  I  would  say  noth- 
ing of  all  this  ashore,  though.  He  wouldn't  like  it 
to  get  about  that  he  had  been  intimate  with  an 
eater  of  men — a  common  cannibal.  As  to  the  scene 
he  had  made  (which  I  judged  quite  unnecessary) 
he  was  not  going  to  inconvenience  and  restrain 
himself  for  a  fellow  that  went  about  courting  and 
upsetting  girls'  heads,  while  he  knew  all  the  time 
that  no  decent  housewifel}'^  girl  could  think  of  mar- 
rying him.  At  least  he  (Hermann)  could  not  con- 
ceive how  any  girl  could.  Fancy  Lena !  .  .  .  No, 
it  was  impossible.  The  thoughts  that  would  come 
into  their  heads  every  time  they  sat  down  to  a  meal. 
Horrible !    Horrible ! 

"  You  are  too  squeamish,  Hermann,"  I  said. 

He  seemed  to  think  it  was  eminently  proper  to  be 
squeamish  if  the  word  meant  disgust  at  Falk's  con- 
duct; and  turning  up  his  eyes  sentimentally  he 
drew  my  attention  to  the  horrible  fate  of  the  victims 
— the  victims  of  that  FaUc.  I  said  that  I  knew 
[12-i] 


/  FALK 

nothing  about  them.  He  Beemed  surprised.  Could 
not  anybody  imagine  without  knowing?  He — for 
instance — felt  he  would  like  to  avenge  them.  But 
what  if — said  I — there  had  not  been  any?  They 
might  have  died  as  it  were,  naturally — of  starva- 
tion. He  shuddered.  But  to  be  eaten — after 
death !  To  be  devoured !  He  gave  another  deep 
shudder,  and  asked  suddenly,  "  Do  you  think  it 
is  true?" 

His  indignation  and  his  personality  together 
would  have  been  enough  to  spoil  the  reality  of  the 
most  authentic  thing.  When  I  looked  at  him  I 
doubted  the  story — but  the  remembrance  of  Falk's 
M'ords,  looks,  gestures,  invested  it  not  only  with 
an  air  of  reality  but  with  the  absolute  truth  of 
primitive  passion. 

"  It  is  true  just  as  much  as  you  are  able  to  make 
it ;  and  exactly  in  the  way  you  like  to  make  it.  For 
my  part,  when  I  hear  you  clamouring  about  it,  I 
don't  believe  it  is  true  at  all." 

And  I  left  him  pondering.  The  men  in  my  boat 
lying  at  the  foot  of  Diana's  side  ladder  told  me  that 
the  captain  of  the  tug  had  gone  away  in  his  gig 
some  time  ago. 


TALK 

I  let  my  fellows  puU  an  easy  stroke ;  because  of 
the  heavy  dew  the  clear  sparkle  of  the  stars  seemed 
to  fall  on  me  cold  and  wetting.  There  was  a  sense 
of  lurking  gruesome  horror  somewhere  in  ray  mind, 
and  it  was  mingled  with  clear  and  grotesque 
images.  Schomberg*8  gastronomic  tittle-tattle 
was  responsible  for  these;  and  I  half  hoped  I 
should  never  see  Falk  again.  But  the  first  thing 
my  anchor-watchman  told  me  was  that  the  captain 
of  the  tug  was  on  board.  He  had  sent  his  boat 
away  and  was  now  waiting  for  me  in  the  cuddy. 

He  was  lying  full  length  on  the  stem  settee,  his 
face  buried  in  the  cushions.  I  had  expected  to  see 
it  discomposed,  contorted,  despairing.  It  was 
nothing  of  the  kind;  it  was  just  as  I  had  seen  it 
twenty  times,  steady  and  glaring  from  the  bridge 
of  the  tug.  It  was  immovably  set  and  hungry, 
dominated  like  the  whole  man  by  the  singleness  of 
one  instinct. 

He  wanted  to  hve.  He  had  always  wanted  to 
live.  So  we  all  do — but  in  us  the  instinct  serves  a 
complex  conception,  and  in  him  this  instinct  existed 
alone.  There  is  in  such  simple  development  a  gi- 
gtjatic  forct,  and  Hk*  the  pathoi  of  t  shild'a  n^Sre 


FALK 

and  uncontrolled  desire.  He  wanted  that  girl,  and 
the  utmost  that  can  be  said  for  him  was  that  he 
wanted  that  particular  girl  alone.  I  think  I  saw 
then  the  obscure  beginning,  the  seed  germinating 
in  the  soil  of  an  unconscious  need,  the  first  shoot 
of  that  tree  bearing  now  for  a  mature  mankind  the 
flower  and  the  fruit,  the  infinite  gradation  in 
shades  and  in  flavour  of  our  discriminating  love. 
He  was  a  child.  He  was  as  frank  as  a  child  too. 
He  was  hungry  for  the  girl,  terribly  hungry,  as 
he  had  been  terribly  hungry  for  food. 

Don't  be  shocked  if  I  declare  that  in  my  belief 
it  was  the  same  need,  the  same  pain,  the  same  tor- 
ture. We  are  in  his  case  allowed  to  contemplate 
the  foundation  of  all  the  emotions — that  one  joy 
which  is  to  live,  and  the  one  sadness  at  the  root  of 
the  innumerable  torments.  It  was  made  plain  by 
the  way  he  talked.  He  had  never  suffered  so.  It 
was  gnawing,  it  was  fire :  it  was  there,  like  this ! 
And  after  pointing  below  his  breastbone,  he  made 
a  hard  wringing  motion  with  his  hands.  And  I  as- 
sure you  that,  seen  as  I  saw  it  with  my  bodily  eyes, 
it  was  anything  but  laughable.  And  again,  as  he 
was  presently  to  tell  me  (alluding  to  an  early  inci- 
[1271 


falk: 

dent  of  the  disastrous  voyage  when  some  damaged 
meat  had  been  flung  overboard),  he  said  that  a 
time  soon  came  when  his  heart  ached  (that  was  the 
expression  he  used),  and  he  was  ready  to  tear  his 
hair  out  at  the  thought  of  all  that  rotten  beef 
thrown  away. 

I  had  heard  all  this;  I  witnessed  his  physical 
struggles,  seeing  the  working  of  the  rack  and  hear- 
ing the  true  voice  of  pain.  I  witnessed  it  all  pa- 
tiently, because  the  moment  I  came  into  the  cuddy 
he  had  called  upon  me  to  stand  by  him — ^and  this, 
it  seems,  I  had  diplomatically  promised. 

His  agitation  was  impressive  and  alarming  in 
the  httle  cabin,  like  the  floundering  of  a  great 
whale  driven  into  a  shallow  cove  in  a  coast.  He 
stood  up ;  he  flung  himself  down  headlong ;  he  tried 
to  tear  the  cushion  with  his  teeth ;  and  again  hug- 
ging it  fiercely  to  his  face  he  let  liimself  fall  on  the 
couch.  The  whole  ship  seem.ed  to  feel  the  shock 
of  his  despair;  and  I  contemplated  with  wonder  the 
lofty  forehead,  the  noble  touch  of  time  on  the  un- 
covered temples,  the  unchanged  hungry  character 
of  the  face — so  strangely  ascetic  and  so  incapable 
of  portraying  emotion. 

[128] 


FALK 

What  should  he  do?  He  had  lived  by  being 
near  her.  He  had  sat — in  the  evening — I  knew? — ■ 
all  his  life !  She  sewed.  Her  head  was  bent — so. 
Her  head — like  this — and  her  arms.  Ah !  Had  I 
seen.''     Like  this. 

He  dropped  on  a  stool,  bowed  his  powerful  neck 
whose  nape  was  red,  and  with  his  hands  stitched 
the  air,  ludicrous,  sublimely  imbecile  and  compre- 
hensible. 

And  now  he  couldn't  have  her  ?  No !  That  was 
too  much.  After  thinking  too  that  .  .  .  What 
had  he  done.''  What  was  my  advice?  Take  her  by 
force?  No?  Mustn't  he?  Who  was  there  then 
to  kill  him  ?  For  the  first  time  I  saw'  one  of  his  fea' 
tures  move;  a  fighting  teeth-baring  curl  of  the  lip. 
..."  Not  Hermann,  perhaps."  He  lost  himself 
in  thought  as  though  he  had  fallen  out  of  the 
world. 

I  may  note  that  the  idea  of  suicide  apparently 
(lid  not  enter  his  head  for  a  single  moment.  It  oc- 
curred to  me  to  ask: 

"  Where  was  it  that  tliis  shipwreck  of  yours  took 
place?" 

"  Down  south,"  he  said  vaguely  with  a  start. 
[129] 


FALK 

"  You  are  not  down  south  now,"  I  said.  "  Vio- 
lence won't  do.  They  would  take  her  away  from 
you  in  no  time.  And  what  was  the  name  of  the 
sliip.?" 

"  Borgmester  Dahl,"  he  said.  "It  was  no  ship- 
wreck." 

He  seemed  to  be  waking  up  by  degrees  from  that 
trance,  and  waking  up  calmed. 

"  Not  a  shipwreck  ?     What  was  it  ?  " 

"  Break  down,"  he  answered,  looking  more  like 
himself  every  moment.  By  this  only  I  learned  that 
it  was  a  steamer.  I  had  till  then  supposed  they 
had  been  starving  in  boats  or  on  a  raft — or  per- 
haps on  a  barren  rock. 

"  She  did  not  sink  then.''  "  I  asked  in  surprise. 
He  nodded.  "  We  sighted  the  southern  ice,"  he 
pronounced  dreamily. 

"  And  you  alone  survived.''  " 

He  sat  down.  "  Yes.  It  was  a  terrible  misfor- 
tune for  me.  Everything  went  wrong.  All  the 
men  went  wrong.     I  survived." 

Remembering  the  things  one  reads  of  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  realise  the  true  meaning  of  his  answers.  I 
ought  to  have  seen  at  once — ^but  I  did  not ;  so  diffi- 
[130] 


FALK 

cult  is  it  for  our  minds,  remembering  so  much,  in- 
structed so  much,  informed  of  so  much,  to  get  in 
touch  with  the  real  actuahty  at  our  elbow.  And 
with  my  head  full  of  preconceived  notions  as  to 
how  a  case  of  "  cannibalism  and  suffering  at  sea  " 
should  be  managed  I  said — "  You  were  then  so 
lucky  in  the  drawing  of  lots?  " 

*'  Drawing  of  lots?  "  he  said.  "  What  lots?  Do 
you  think  I  would  have  allowed  my  life  to  go  for 
the  drawing  of  lots  ?  " 

Not  if  he  could  help  it,  I  perceived,  no  matter 
what  other  life  went. 

"  It  was  a  great  misfortune.  Terrible.  Awful," 
he  said.  "  Many  heads  went  wrong,  but  the  best 
men  would  live." 

"  The  toughest,  you  mean,"  I  said.  He  consid- 
ered the  word.  Perhaps  it  was  strange  to  him, 
though  his  English  was  so  good. 

"  Yes,"  he  asserted  at  last.  "  The  best.  It  was 
everybody  for  himself  at  last  and  the  ship  open  to 
all." 

Thus  from  question  to  question  I  got  the  whole 
story.  I  fancy  it  was  the  only  way  I  could  that 
night  have  stood  by  him.  Outwardly  at  least  he 
[131] 


FALK 

was  himself  again ;  the  first  sign  of  it  was  the  re- 
turn of  that  incongruous  trick  he  had  of  drawing 
both  liis  hands  down  his  face — and  it  had  its  mean- 
ing now,  with  that  sHght  shudder  of  the  frame  and 
the  passionate  anguish  of  these  hands  uncovering 
a  hungry  immovable  face,  the  wide  pupils  of  the 
intent,  silent,  fascinating  ej^es. 

It  was  an  iron  steamer  of  a  most  respectable  ori- 
gin. The  burgomaster  of  Falk's  native  town  had 
built  her.  She  was  the  first  steamer  ever  launched 
there.  The  burgomaster's  daughter  had  christened 
her.  Country  people  drove  in  carts  from  miles 
around  to  see  her.  He  told  me  all  this.  He  got  the 
berth  as  what  we  should  call  a  chief  mate.  He 
seemed  to  think  it  had  been  a  feather  in  his  cap ; 
and,  in  his  own  corner  of  the  world,  tliis  lover  of 
life  was  of  good  parentage. 

The  burgomaster  had  advanced  ideas  in  the 
ship-owning  line.  At  that  time  not  every  one 
would  have  known  enough  to  think  of  despatching 
a  cargo  steamer  to  the  Pacific.  But  he  loaded  her 
with  pitch-pine  deals  and  sent  her  off  to  hunt  for 
her  luck.  Wellington  was  to  be  the  first  port,  I 
fancy.  It  doesn't  matter,  because  in  latitude  44)'^ 
[132] 


FALK 

south  and  somewhere  halfway  between  Good  Hope 
and  New  Zealand  the  tail  shaft  broke  and  the  pro- 
peller dropped  off. 

The}'  were  steaming  then  with  a  fresh  gale  on 
the  quarter  and  all  their  canvas  set,  to  help  the  en- 
gines. But  by  itself  the  sail  power  was  not  enough 
to  keep  way  on  her.  When  the  propeller  went  the 
ship  broached-to  at  once,  and  the  masts  got 
whipped  overboard. 

The  disadvantage  of  being  dismasted  consisted 
in  this,  that  the}'  had  nothing  to  hoist  flags  on  to 
make  themselves  visible  at  a  distance.  In  the 
course  of  the  first  few  days  several  ships  failed  to 
sight  them ;  and  the  gale  was  drifting  them  out  of 
the  usual  track.  The  voj-age  had  been,  from  the 
first,  neither  very  successful  nor  very  harmonious. 
There  had  been  quarrels  on  board.  The  captain 
was  a  clever,  melancholic  man,  who  had  no  unusual 
grip  on  his  crew.  The  ship  had  been  amply  pro- 
visioned for  the  passage,  but,  somehow  or  other, 
several  barrels  of  meat  were  found  spoiled  on  open- 
ing, and  had  been  thrown  overboard  soon  after 
leaving  home,  as  a  sanitary  measure.  Afterwards 
the  crew  of  the  Borgmester  Dahl  thought  of  that 
[  133  ] 


TALK 

rotten  carrion  with  tears  of  regret,  covetousness 
and  despair. 

She  drove  south.  To  begin  with,  there  had  been 
an  appearance  of  organisation,  but  soon  the  bonds 
of  discipline  became  relaxed.  A  sombre  idleness 
succeeded.  They  looked  with  sullen  eyes  at  the  hori- 
zon. The  gales  increased:  she  lay  in  the  trough, 
the  seas  made  a  clean  breach  over  her.  On  one 
frightful  night,  when  they  expected  their  hulk  to 
turn  over  with  them  every  moment,  a  heavy  sea 
broke  on  board,  deluged  the  store-rooms  and  spoiled 
the  best  part  of  the  remaining  provisions.  It  seems 
the  hatch  had  not  been  properly  secured.  This  in- 
stance of  neglect  is  characteristic  of  utter  discour- 
agement. Falk  tried  to  inspire  some  energy  into 
his  captain,  but  failed.  From  that  time  he  retired 
more  into  himself,  always  trying  to  do  his  utmost 
in  the  situation.  It  grew  worse.  Gale  succeeded 
gale,  with  black  mountains  of  water  hurling  them- 
selves on  the  Borgmester  Dahl.  Some  of  the  men 
never  left  their  bunks;  many  became  quarrelsome. 
The  chief  engineer,  an  old  man,  refused  to  speak 
at  all  to  anybody.  Others  shut  themselves  up  in 
their  berths  to  cry.  On  cahn  days  the  inert  steamer 
[134] 


FALK 

rolled  on  a  leaden  sea  under  a  murky  sky,  or 
showed,  in  sunshine,  the  squalor  of  sea  waifs,  the 
dried  white  salt,  the  rust,  the  jagged  broken 
places.  Then  the  gales  came  again.  Thej  kept 
body  and  soul  together  on  short  rations.  Once,  an 
English  ship,  scudding  in  a  storm,  tried  to  stand 
by  them,  heaving-to  pluckily  under  their  lee.  The 
seas  swept  her  decks;  the  men  in  oilskins  clinging 
to  her  rigging  looked  at  them,  and  they  made  des- 
perate signs  over  their  shattered  bulwarks.  Sud- 
denly her  main-topsail  went,  yard  and  all,  in  a  ter- 
rific squall;  she  had  to  bear  up  under  bare  poles, 
and  disappeared. 

Other  ships  had  spoken  them  before,  but  at  first 
they  had  refused  to  be  taken  off,  expecting  the  as- 
sistance of  some  steamer.  There  were  very  few 
steamers  in  those  latitudes  then ;  and  when  they 
desired  to  leave  this  dead  and  drifting  carcase,  no 
ship  came  in  sight.  They  had  drifted  south  out  of 
men's  knowledge.  They  failed  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  a  lonely  whaler,  and  very  soon  the  edge  of 
the  polar  ice-cap  rose  from  the  sea  and  closed  the 
southern  horizon  like  a  wall.  One  morning  they 
wcrt  ftUnned  by  finding  thcmMlvta  floating 
[IM] 


FALK 
amongst  detached  pieces  of  ice.  But  the  fear  of 
sinking  passed  awaj  Hke  their  vigour,  like  their 
hopes ;  the  shocks  of  the  floes  knocking  against  the 
ship's  side  could  not  rouse  them  from  their  apathy : 
and  the  Borgmester  Dahl  drifted  out  again  un- 
liarnied  into  open  water.  They  hardly  noticed 
the  change. 

The  funnel  had  gone  overboard  in  one  of  the 
heavy  rolls ;  tw  o  of  their  three  boats  had  disap- 
peared, washed  away  in  bad  weather,  and  the  davits 
swung  to  and  fro,  unsecured,  with  chafed  rope's 
ends  waggling  to  the  roll.  Nothing  was  done  on 
board,  and  Falk  told  me  how  he  had  often  hstened 
to  the  water  washing  about  the  dark  engine-room 
where  the  engines,  stilled  for  ever,  were  decaying 
slowly  into  a  mass  of  rust,  as  the  stilled  heart  de- 
cays within  the  lifeless  body.  At  first,  after  the 
loss  of  the  motive  power,  the  tiller  had  been  thor- 
oughly secured  by  lashings.  But  in  course  of  time 
these  had  rotted,  chafed,  rusted,  parting  one  by 
one :  and  the  rudder,  freed,  banged  heavily  to  and 
fro  night  and  day,  sending  dull  shocks  through  the 
whole  frame  of  the  vessel.  This  was  dangerous. 
Nobody  c^red  enough  to  lift  a  little  finger.  He 
[136] 


FALK 

told  me  that  even  now  sometimes  waking  up  at 
night,  he  fancied  he  could  hear  the  dull  vibrating 
thuds.  The  pintles  carried  away,  and  it  dropped 
off  at  last. 

The  final  catastrophe  came  with  the  sending  off 
of  their  one  remaining  boat.  It  was  Falk  who  bad 
managed  to  preserA-e  her  intact,  and  now  it  was 
agreed  that  some  of  the  hands  should  sail  away  into 
the  track  of  the  shipping  to  procure  assistance. 
She  was  provisioned  with  all  the  food  they  could 
spare  for  the  six  who  were  to  go.  They  waited  for 
a  fine  day.  It  was  long  in  coming.  At  last  one 
morning  they  lowered  her  into  the  water. 

Directly,  in  that  demoralised  crowd,  trouble 
broke  out.  Two  men  who  had  no  business  there 
had  jumped  into  the  boat  under  the  pretence  of 
unhooking  the  tackles,  while  some  sort  of  squabble 
arose  on-  the  deck  amongst  these  weak,  tottering 
spectres  of  a  ship's  company.  The  captain,  who 
had  been  for  days  living  secluded  and  unapproach- 
able in  the  chart-room,  came  to  the  rail.  He  or- 
dered the  two  men  to  come  up  on  board  and  men- 
aced them  with  his  revolver.  They  pretended  to 
obey,  but  suddenly  cutting  the  boat's  painter,  gave 


F  A  L  K 

a  shove  against  the  ship's  side  and  made  ready  to 
hoist  the  sail. 

"  Shoot,  sir !  Shoot  them  down !  "  cried  Falk— 
"  and  I  will  jump  overboard  to  regain  the  boat." 
But  the  captain,  after  taking  aim  with  an  irreso- 
lute arm,  turned  suddenly  away. 

A  howl  of  rage  arose.  Falk  dashed  into  his  cabin 
for  his  own  pistol.  When  he  returned  it  was  too 
late.  Two  more  men  had  leaped  into  the  water,  but 
the  fellows  in  the  boat  beat  them  off  with  the  oars, 
I'.oisted  the  boat's  lug  and  sailed  awa}'.  They  were 
never  heard  of  again. 

Consternation  and  despair  possessed  the  remain- 
ing ship's  company,  till  the  apathy  of  utter  hope- 
lessness re-asserted  its  sway.  That  day  a  fireman 
committed  suicide,  running  up  on  deck  with  his 
throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear,  to  the  horror  of  all 
hands.  He  was  thrown  overboard.  The  captain 
had  locked  himself  in  the  chart-room,  and  Falk, 
knocking  vainly  for  admittance,  heard  him  recit- 
ing over  and  over  again  the  names  of  his  \vife  and 
children,  not  as  if  calling  upon  them  or  commend- 
ing them  to  God,  but  in  a  mechanica.1  voice  like  an 
exercise  of  memory.  Next  day  the  doors  of  the 
[138] 


F  A  L  K 
chart-room  were  swinging  open  to  Ihe  roll  of  the 
ship,  and  the  captain  had  disappeared.     He  must 
during  the  night  have  jumped  into  the  sea.    Falk 
locked  both  the  doors  and  kept  the  keys. 

The  organised  life  of  the  ship  had  come  to  an 
end.  The  solidarity  of  the  men  had  gone.  They 
became  indifferent  to  each  other.  It  was  Falk  who 
took  in  hand  the  distribution  of  such  food  as  re- 
mained. They  boiled  their  boots  for  soup  to  eke 
out  the  rations,  which  only  made  their  hunger  more 
intolerable.  Sometimes  whispers  of  hate  were 
heard  passing  between  the  languid  skeletons  that 
drifted  endlessly  to  and  fro,  north  and  south,  east 
and  west,  upon  that  carcase  of  a  ship. 

And  in  this  lies  the  grotesque  horror  of  this  som- 
bre story.  The  last  extremity  of  sailors,  overtaking 
a  small  boat  or  a  frail  craft,  seems  easier  to  bear, 
because  of  the  direct  danger  of  the  seas.  The  con- 
fined space,  the  close  contact,  the  imminent  menace 
of  the  waves,  seem  to  draw  men  together,  in  spite 
of  madness,  suffering  and  despair.  But  there  was 
a  ship — safe,  convenient,  roomy :  a  ship  with  beds, 
bedding,  knives,  forks,  comfortable  cabins,  glass 
and  china,  and  a  complete  cook's  galley,  pervaded, 
[139] 


FALK 

ruled  and  possessed  by  the  pitiless  spectre  of  star- 
vation. The  lamp  oil  had  been  drunk,  the  wicks 
cut  up  for  food,  the  candles  eaten.  At  night  she 
floated  dark  in  all  her  recesses,  and  full  of  fears. 
One  day  Falk  came  upon  a  man  gnawing  a  splinter 
of  pine  wood.  Suddenly  he  threw  the  piece  of  wood 
away,  tottered  to  the  rail,  and  fell  over.  Falk,  too 
late  to  prevent  the  act,  saw  him  claw  the  ship's 
side  desperately  before  he  went  down.  Next  day 
another  man  did  the  same  thing,  after  uttering  hor- 
rible imprecations.  But  tliis  one  somehow  man- 
aged to  get  hold  of  the  broken  rudder  chains  and 
hung  on  there,  silently.  Falk  set  about  trying  to 
save  him,  and  all  the  time  the  man,  holding  with 
both  hands,  looked  at  him  anxiously  with  his  sunken 
eyes.  Then,  just  as  Falk  was  ready  to  put  his  hand 
on  him,  the  man  let  go  his  hold  and  sank  like  a 
stone.  Falk  reflected  on  these  sights.  His  heart 
revolted  against  the  horror  of  death,  and  he  said 
to  himself  that  he  would  struggle  for  every  pre- 
cious minute  of  his  life. 

One  afternoon — as  the  survivors  lay  about  on 
the  after  deck — the  carpenter,  a  tall  man  with  a 
black  beard,  spoke  of  the  last  sacrifice.    There  was 
[140] 


FALK 

nothing  eatable  left  on  board.  Nobody  said  a 
word  to  this ;  but  that  compan}'  separated  quickly, 
these  listless  feeble  spectres  slunk  off  one  by  one 
to  hide  in  fear  of  each  other.  Falk  and  the  car- 
penter remained  on  deck  together.  Falk  liked 
the  big  carpenter.  He  had  been  the  best  man  of 
the  lot,  helpful  and  ready  as  long  as  there  was 
anything  to  do,  the  longest  hopeful,  and  had 
preserved  to  the  last  some  vigour  and  decision  of 
mind. 

They  did  not  speak  to  each  other.  Henceforth 
no  voices  were  to  be  heard  conversing  sadly  on 
board  that  ship.  After  a  time  the  carpenter  tot- 
tered away  forward;  but  later  on,  Falk  going  to 
drink  at  the  fresh-water  pump,  had  the  inspiration 
to  turn  his  head.  The  carpenter  had  stolen  upon 
him  from  behind,  and,  summoning  all  his  strength, 
was  aiming  with  a  crowbar  a  blow  at  the  back  of 
his  skull. 

Dodging  just  in  time,  Falk  made  liis  escape  and 
ran  into  his  cabin.  While  he  was  loading  his  re- 
volver thercj  he  heard  the  sound  of  heavy  blows 
struck  upon  the  bridge.  The  locks  of  the  chart- 
room  doors  were  slight,  they  flew  open,  and  the  car- 
[141] 


FALK 

penter,  possessing  himself  of  the  captain's  revolver, 
fired  a  shot  of  defiance. 

Falk  was  about  to  go  on  deck  and  have  it  out 
at  once,  -when  he  remarked  that  one  of  the  ports  of 
his  cabin  commanded  the  approaches  to  the  fresh- 
water pump.  Instead  of  going  out  he  remained  in 
and  secured  the  door.  "  The  best  man  shall  sur- 
vive," he  said  to  himself — and  the  other,  he  rea- 
soned, must  at  some  time  or  other  come  there  to 
drink.  These  starving  men  would  drink  often  to 
cheat  the  pangs  of  their  hunger.  But  the  carpen- 
ter too  must  have  noticed  the  position  of  the  port. 
The}^  were  the  two  best  men  in  the  ship,  and  the 
game  was  with  them,.  All  the  rest  of  the  day  Falk 
saw  no  one  and  heard  no  sound.  At  night  he 
strained  his  e^-es.  It  was  dark — he  heard  a  rustling 
noise  once,  but  he  was  certain  that  no  one  could 
have  come  near  the  pump.  It  was  to  the  left  of  his 
deck  port,  and  he  could  not  have  failed  to  see  a 
man,  for  the  night  was  clear  and  starry.  He  saw 
nothing;  towards  morning  another  faint  noise 
made  him  suspicious.  Deliberately  and  quietly  he 
unlocked  his  door.  He  had  not  slept,  and  had  not 
[142] 


FALK 

given  way  to  the  horror  of  the  situation.  He 
wanted  to  live. 

But  during  the  night  the  carpenter,  without  at 
all  trying  to  approach  the  pump,  had  managed  to 
creep  quietly  along  the  starboard  bulwark,  and, 
unseen,  had  crouched  down  right  under  Falk's  deck 
port.  When  daylight  came  he  rose  up  suddenly, 
looked  in,  and  putting  his  arm  through  the  round 
brass  framed  opening,  fired  at  Falk  within  a  foot. 
He  missed — and  Falk,  instead  of  attempting  to 
seize  the  arm  holding  the  weapon,  opened  his  door 
unexpectedly,  and  with  the  muzzle  of  his  long  re- 
volver nearly  touching  the  other's  side,  shot  him 
dead. 

The  best  man  had  survived.  Both  of  them  had 
at  the  beginning  just  strength  enough  to  stand  on 
their  feet,  and  both  had  displayed  pitiless  resolu- 
tion, endurance,  cunning  and  courage — all  the 
qualities  of  classic  heroism.  At  once  Falk  threw 
overboard  the  captain's  revolver.  He  was  a  born 
monopolist.  Then  after  the  report  of  the  two 
shots,  followed  by  a  profound  silence,  there  crept 
out  into  the  cold,  cruel  dawn  of  Antarctic  regions, 
[143] 


FALK 

from  various  lading-places,  over  the  deck  of  that 
dismantled  corpse  of  a  sliip  floating  on  a  grey  sea 
ruled  by  iron  necessity  and  with  a  heart  of  ice — ■ 
there  crept  into  view  one  by  one,  cautious,  slow,  ea- 
ger, glaring,  and  unclean,  a  band  of  hungry  and 
livid  skeletons.  Falk  faced  them,  the  possessor  of 
the  onlj"^  fire-arm  on  board,  and  the  second  best  man 
— the  carpenter — was  lying  dead  between  him  and 
them. 

"  He  was  eaten,  of  course,"  I  said. 

He  bent  his  head  slowlj^,  shuddered  a  little,  draw- 
ing his  hands  over  his  face,  and  said,  "  I  had  never 
any  quarrel  with  that  man.  But  there  were  our 
lives  between  him  and  me." 

Why  continue  the  story  of  that  ship,  that  story 
before  which,  with  its  fresh-water  pump  like  a 
spring  of  death,  its  man  with  the  weapon,  the  sea 
ruled  by  iron  necessity-,  its  spectral  band  swayed  by 
terror  and  hope,  its  mute  and  unhearing  heaven .'' — 
the  fable  of  the  Flying  DutcJivian  with  its  conven- 
tion of  crime  and  its  sentimental  retribution  fades 
like  a  graceful  wreath,  like  a  wisp  of  white  mist. 
What  is  there  to  say  that  every  one  of  us  cannot 
guess  for  himself.!^  I  believe  Falk  began  by  going 
[144] 


FALK 

through  the  ship,  revolver  in  hand,  to  annex  all  the 
matclies.  Those  starving  wretches  had  plenty  of 
matches !  He  had  no  mind  to  have  the  ship  set  on 
fire  under  his  feet,  either  from  hate  or  from  despair. 
He  lived  in  the  open,  camping  on  the  bridge,  com- 
manding all  the  after  deck  and  the  only  approach 
to  the  pump.  He  lived !  Some  of  the  others  lived 
too — concealed,  anxious,  coming  out  one  by  one 
from  their  hiding-places  at  the  seductive  sound  of 
a  shot.  And  he  was  not  selfish.  They  shared,  but 
only  three  of  them  all  were  alive  when  a  whaler,  re- 
turning from  her  cruising  ground,  nearly  ran  over 
the  water-logged  hull  of  the  Borgnuster  Dahl, 
which,  it  seems,  in  the  end  had  in  some  way  sprung 
a  leak  in  both  her  holds,  but  being  loaded  with  deals 
could  not  sink. 

"  They  all  died,"  Falk  said.  "  These  three  too, 
afterwards.  But  I  would  not  die.  All  died,  all ! 
under  this  terrible  misfortune.  But  was  I  too  to 
throw  away  my  life.'*  Could  I.''  Tell  me,  captain.'' 
I  was  alone  there,  quite  alone,  just  like  the  others. 
Each  man  was  alone.  Was  I  to  give  up  my  re- 
volver.'' Who  to?  Or  was  I  to  throw  it  into  the 
sea?  What  would  have  been  the  good?  Only  the 
[145] 


FALK 
best  man  would  survive.     It  was  a  great,  terrible, 
and  cruel  misfortune." 

He  had  survived!  I  saw  him  before  me  as 
though  preserved  for  a  witness  to  the  mighty  truth 
of  an  unerring  and  eternal  principle.  Great  beads 
of  perspiration  stood  on  his  forehead.  And  sud- 
denly it  struck  the  table  with  a  heavy  blow,  as  he 
fell  forward  throwing  his  hands  out. 

"  And  this  is  worse,"  he  cried.  "  This  is  a  worse 
pain !    This  is  more  terrible." 

He  made  my  heart  thump  with  the  profound  con- 
viction of  his  cries.  And  after  he  had  left  me 
alone  I  called  up  before  my  mental  eye  the  image 
of  the  girl  weeping  silently,  abundantly,  patiently, 
and  as  if  irresistibly.  I  thought  of  her  tawny 
hair.  I  thought  how,  if  unplaited,  it  would  have 
covered  her  all  round  as  low  as  the  hips,  like  the 
hair  of  a  siren.  And  she  had  bewitched  him.  Fancy 
a  man  who  would  guard  his  own  life  with  the  in- 
flexibility of  a  pitiless  and  immovable  fate,  being 
brought  to  lament  that  once  a  crowbar  had  missed 
his  skull!  The  sirens  sing  and  lure  to  death,  but 
this  one  had  been  weeping  silently  as  if  for  the  pity 
of  his  life.  She  was  the  tender  and  voiceless  siren 
[146] 


FALK 

of  this  appalling  navigator.  He  evidently  wanted 
to  live  his  whole  conception  of  life.  Nothing  else 
would  do.  And  she  too  was  a  servant  of  that  life 
that,  in  the  midst  of  death,  cries  aloud  to  our  senses. 
She  was  eminently  fitted  to  interpret  for  him  its 
feminine  side.  And  in  her  own  way,  and  with  her 
own  profusion  of  sensuous  charms,  she  also  seemed 
to  illustrate  the  eternal  truth  of  an  unerring  prin- 
ciple. I  don't  know  though  what  sort  of  principle 
Hermann  illustrated  when  he  turned  up  early  on 
board  my  ship  with  a  most  perplexed  air.  It 
struck  me,  however,  that  he  too  would  do  his  best 
to  survive.  He  seemed  greatly  calmed  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Falk,  but  still  very  full  of  it. 

"  What  is  it  you  said  I  was  last  night  ?  You 
know,"  he  asked  after  some  preliminary  talk. 
"  Too — too — I  don't  know.    A  very  funny  word.'* 

"  Squeamish.''  "  I  suggested. 

"  Yes.    What  does  it  mean?  " 

"  That  you  exaggerate  things — to  yourself. 
Without  inquiry,  and  so  on." 

He  seemed  to  turn  it  over  in  his  mind.  We  went 
on  talking.  This  Falk  was  the  plague  of  his  life. 
Upsetting  everybody  like  this!  Mrs.  Hermann 
[1*7] 


FALK 

was  unwell  rather  this  morning.  His  niece  wa» 
crying  still.  There  was  nobody  to  look  after  the 
children.  He  struck  his  umbrella  on  the  deck.  She 
would  be  like  that  for  months.  Fancy  carrjnng  all 
the  way  home,  second  class,  a  perfectly  useless  girl 
who  is  crying  all  the  time.  It  was  bad  for  Lena 
too,  he  observed ;  but  on  what  grounds  I  could  not 
guess.  Perhaps  of  the  bad  example.  That  child 
was  already  sorrowing  and  crying  enough  over  the 
rag  doll.  Nicholas  was  really  the  least  sentimental 
person  of  the  family. 

"  Why  does  she  weep  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  From  pity,"  cried  Hermann. 

It  was  impossible  to  make  out  women.  Mrs.  Her- 
mann was  the  only  one  he  pretended  to  understand. 
She  was  very,  very  upset  and  doubtful. 

"  Doubtful  about  what.?  "  I  asked. 

He  averted  his  eyes  and  did  not  answer  this.  It 
was  impossible  to  make  them  out.  For  instance, 
his  niece  was  weeping  for  Falk.  Now  he  (Her- 
mann) would  like  to  wring  his  neck — ^but  then  .  .  . 
He  supposed  he  had  too  tender  a  heart.  "  Frank- 
ly," he  asked  at  last,  "  what  do  you  think  of  what 
we  heard  last  night,  captain  ?  " 
[148] 


FALK 

"  In  all  these  tales,"  I  observed,  "  there  is  always 
a  good  deal  of  exaggeration." 

And  not  letting  him  recover  from  his  surprise  I 
assured  him  that  I  knew  all  the  details.  He  begged 
me  not  to  repeat  them.  His  heart  was  too  tender. 
The}'  made  him  feel  unwell.  Then,  looking  at  his 
feet  and  speaking  very  slowly,  he  supposed  that  he 
need  not  see  much  of  them  after  they  were  married. 
For,  indeed,  he  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  Falk. 
On  the  other  hand  it  was  ridiculous  to  take  home  a 
girl  with  her  head  turned.  A  girl  that  weeps  all 
the  time  and  is  of  no  help  to  her  aunt. 

"  Now  you  will  be  able  to  do  with  one  cabin  only 
on  your  passage  home,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  I  had  thought  of  that,"  he  said  brightly, 
almost.  "  Yes !  Himself,  his  wife,  four  children 
— one  cabin  might  do.  Whereas  if  his  niece 
went  .   ..." 

"And  what  does  Mrs.  Hermann  say  to  it.?"  I 
inquired. 

Mrs.  Hermann  did  not  know  whether  a  man  of 
that  sort  could  make  a  girl  happy — she  had  been 
greatly  deceived  in  Captain  Falk.  She  had  been 
very  upset  last  night. 

[  149  ] 


FALK 

Those  good  people  did  not  seem  to  be  able  to  re- 
tain an  impression  for  a  whole  twelve  hours.  I 
assured  him  on  my  own  personal  knowledge  that 
Falk  possessed  in  himself  all  the  qualities  to  make 
his  niece's  future  prosperous.  He  said  he  was  glad 
to  hear  this,  and  that  he  would  tell  his  wife.  Then 
the  object  of  the  visit  came  out.  He  wished  me  to 
help  him  to  resume  relations  with  Falk.  His  niece, 
he  said,  had  expressed  the  hope  I  would  do  so  in  my 
kindness.  He  was  evidently  anxious  that  I  should, 
for  though  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  nine-tenths 
of  his  last  night's  opinions  and  the  whole  of  his  in- 
dignation, yet  he  evidently  feared  to  be  sent  to  the 
right-about.  "  You  told  me  he  was  very  much  in 
love,"  he  concluded  slyly,  and  leered  in  a  sort  of  bu- 
colic way. 

"  As  soon  as  he  had  left  my  ship  I  called  Falk  on 
board  by  signal — the  tug  still  lying  at  the  anchor- 
age. He  took  the  news  with  calm  gravity,  as 
though  he  had  all  along  expected  the  stars  to  fight 
for  him  in  their  courses. 

I  saw  them  once  more  together,  and  only  once — • 
on  the  quarter-deck  of  the  Diana.  Hermann  sat 
smoking  with  a  shirt-sleeved  elbow  hooked  over  the 
[150] 


FALK 

back  of  his  chair.  Mrs.  Hermann  was  sewing 
alone.  As  Falk  stepped  over  the  gangway,  Her- 
mann's niece,  with  a  slight  swish  of  the  skirt  and  a 
swift  friendly  nod  to  me,  glided  past  my  chair. 

They  met  in  sunshine  abreast  of  the  mainmast. 
He  held  her  hands  and  looked  down  at  them,  and 
she  looked  up  at  him  with  her  candid  and  unseeing 
glance.  It  seemed  to  me  they  had  come  together 
as  if  attracted,  draAvn  and  guided  to  each  other  by 
a  mysterious  influence.  They  were  a  com.plete 
couple.  In  her  grey  frock,  palpitating  with  life, 
generous  of  form,  olympian  and  simple,  she  was  in- 
deed the  siren  to  fascinate  that  dark  navigator,  this 
ruthless  lover  of  the  five  senses.  From  afar  I 
seemed  to  feel  the  masculine  strength  with  wliich 
he  grasped  those  hands  she  had  extended  to  him 
with  a  womanly  SAviftness.  Lena,  a  little  pale, 
nursing  her  beloved  lump  of  dirty  rags,  ran  to- 
wards her  big  friend;  and  then  in  the  drowsy  si- 
lence of  the  good  old  ship  Mrs.  Hermann's  voice 
rang  out  so  changed  that  it  made  me  spin  round  in 
my  chair  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

"  Lena,  come  here ! "  she  screamed.  And  this 
good-natured  matron  gave  me  a  wavering  glance^ 
1151] 


FALK 
dark  and  full  of  fearsome  distrust.  The  child  ran 
back,  surprised,  to  her  knee.  But  the  two,  stand- 
ing before  each  other  in  sunlight  with  clasped 
hands,  had  heard  nothing,  had  seen  nothing  and 
no  one.  Three  feet  away  from  them  in  the  shade 
a  seaman  sat  on  a  spar,  very  busy  splicing  a  strop, 
and  dipping  his  fingers  into  a  tar-pot,  as  if  utterly 
unaware  of  their  existence. 

When  I  returned  in  command  of  another  ship, 
some  five  years  afterwards,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Falk 
had  left  the  place.  I  should  not  wonder  if  Schom- 
berg's  tongue  had  succeeded  at  last  in  scaring  Falk 
away  for  good ;  and,  indubitably,  there  was  a  tale 
still  going  about  the  town  of  a  certain  Falk,  owner 
of  a  tug,  who  had  won  his  wife  at  cards  from  the 
captain  of  an  English  ship. 


[152] 


AMY    FOSTEB 


AMY    FOSTER 

Kennedy  is  a  country  doctor,  and  lives  in  Cole- 
brook,  on  the  shores  of  Eastbay.  The  high 
ground  rising  abruptly  behind  the  red  roofs  of  the 
little  town  crowds  the  quaint  High  Street  against 
the  wall  which  defends  it  from  the  sea.  Beyond 
the  sea-wall  there  curves  for  miles  in  a  vast  and 
regular  sweep  the  barren  beach  of  shingle,  with  the 
village  of  Brenzett  standing  out  darkly  across  the 
water,  a  spire  in  a  clump  of  trees ;  and  still  further 
out  the  perpendicular  column  of  a  lighthouse,  look- 
ing in  the  distance  no  bigger  than  a  lead  pencil, 
marks  the  vanishing-point  of  the  land.  The  coun- 
try at  the  back  of  Brenzett  is  low  and  flat,  but  the 
bay  is  fairly  well  sheltered  from  the  seas,  and  occa- 
sionally a  big  ship,  windbound  or  through  stress 
of  weather,  makes  use  of  the  anchoring  ground  a 
mile  and  a  half  due  north  from  you  as  you  stand 
at  the  back  door  of  the  "  Ship  Inn  "  in  Brenzett. 
[156] 


AMY    FOSTER 

A  dilapidated  windmill  near  by  lifting  its  shatteri'd 
arms  from  a  mound  no  loftier  than  a  rubbish  heap, 
and  a  Martello  tower  squatting  at  the  water's  edge 
half  a  mile  to  the  south  of  the  Coastguard  cottages, 
are  familiar  to  the  skippers  of  small  craft.  These 
are  the  official  seamarks  for  the  patch  of  trust- 
worthy bottom  represented  on  the  Admiralty  charts 
by  an  irregular  oval  of  dots  enclosing  several  fig- 
ures six,  with  a  tiny  anchor  engraved  among  them, 
and  the  legend  "  mud  and  shells  "  over  all. 

The  brow  of  the  upland  overtops  the  square 
tower  of  the  Colebrook  Church.  The  slope  is 
green  and  looped  by  a  white  road.  Ascending 
along  this  road,  you  open  a  valle}^  broad  and  shal- 
low, a  wide  green  trough  of  pastures  and  hedges 
merging  inland  into  a  vista  of  purple  tints  and 
flowing  lines  closing  the  view. 

In  this  valley  down  to  Brenzett  and  Colebrook 
and  up  to  Darnford,  the  market  town  fourteen 
miles  away,  lies  the  practice  of  my  friend  Kennedy. 
He  had  begun  life  as  surgeon  in  the  Navy,  and 
afterwards  had  been  the  companion,  of  a  famous 
traveller,  in  the  days  when  there  were  continents 
with  unexplored  interiors.  His  papers  on  the 
[156] 


/ 


AMY    FOSTER 

fauna  and  flora  made  him  known  to  scientific  socie- 
ties. And  now  he  had  come  to  a  country  practice 
— from  choice.  The  penetrating  power  of  his 
mind,  acting  like  a  corrosive  fluid,  had  destroyed 
his  ambition,  I  fancy.  His  intelHgence  is  of  a 
scientific  order,  of  an  investigating  habit,  and  of 
that  unappeasable  curiosity  which  believes  that 
there  is  a  particle  of  a  general  truth  in  every  mys- 
tery. 

A  good  many  years  ago  now,  on  my  return  from 
abroad,  he  invited  me  to  stay  with  him.  I  came 
readily  enough,  and  as  he  could  not  neglect  his 
patients  to  keep  me  company,  he  took  me  on  his 
rounds — thirty  miles  or  so  of  an  afternoon,  some- 
times. I  waited  for  him  on  the  roads;  the  horse 
reached  after  the  leafy  twigs,  and,  sitting  high  in 
the  dogcart,  I  could  hear  Kennedy's  laugh  through 
the  half-oj)en  door  left  open  of  some  cottage.  He 
had  a  big,  hearty  laugh  that  would  have  fitted  a 
man  twice  his  size,  a  brisk  manner,  a  bronzed  face, 
and  a  pair  of  grey,  profoundly  attentive  eyes.  He 
had  the  talent  of  making  people  talk  to  him  freely, 
and  an  inexhaustible  patience  in  hstening  to  their 
tales. 

[157] 


AMY    FOSTER 

One  day,  as  we  trotted  out  of  a  large  village  into 
a  shadj  bit  of  road,  I  saw  on  our  left  hand  a  low, 
black  cottage,  with  diamond  panes  in  the  windows, 
a  creeper  on  the  end  wall,  a  roof  of  shingle,  and 
some  roses  climbing  on  the  rickety  trellis-work  of 
the  tiny  porch.  Kennedy  pulled  up  to  a  walk.  A 
woman,  in  full  sunlight,  was  throwing  a  dripping 
blanket  over  a  line  stretched  between  two  old  ap- 
ple-trees. And  as  the  bobtailed,  long-necked  chest- 
nut, trying  to  get  his  head,  jerked  the  left  hand, 
covered  by  a  thick  dogskin  glove,  the  doctor  raised 
his  voice  over  the  hedge :  "  How's  your  child. 
Amy.?" 

I  had  the  time  to  see  her  dull  face,  red,  not  with 
a  mantling  blush,  but  as  if  her  flat  cheeks  had  been 
vigorously  slapped,  and  to  take  in  the  squat  figure, 
the  scanty,  dust}'  brown  hair  drawn  into  a  tight 
knot  at  the  back  of  the  head.  She  looked  quite 
young.  With  a  distinct  catch  in  her  breath,  her 
voice  sounded  low  and  timid. 

"  He's  well,  thank  you." 

We  trotted  again.  "  A  young  patient  of 
yours,"  I  said;  and  the  doctor,  flicking  the  chest- 
nut absently,  muttered,  "  Her  husband  uied  to  be." 
fllS] 


AMY    FOSTER 

She  seems  a  dull  creature,"  I  remarked  list- 


"  Precisely,"  said  Kennedy.  "  She  is  very  pas- 
sive. It's  enough  to  look  at  the  red  hands  hanging 
at  the  end  of  those  short  arms,  at  those  slow,  prom- 
inent brown  eyes,  to  know  the  inertness  of  her  mind 
— an  inertness  that  one  would  think  made  it  ever- 
lastingly safe  from  all  the  surprises  of  imagina- 
tion. And  yet  which  of  us  is  safe.?  At  any  rate, 
such  as  you  see  her,  she  had  enough  imagination 
to  fall  in  love.  She's  the  daughter  of  one  Isaac 
Foster,  who  from  a  small  farmer  has  sunk  into  a 
shepherd;  the  beginning  of  his  misfortunes  dating 
from  his  runaway  marriage  with  the  cook  of  his 
widowed  father — a  well-to-do,  apoplectic  grazier, 
who  passionately  struck  his  name  off  his  will,  and 
had  been  heard  to  utter  threats  against  his  life. 
But  this  old  affair,  scandalous  enough  to  serve  as 
a  motive  for  a  Greek  tragedy,  arose  from  the  simi- 
larity of  their  characters.  There  are  other  trage- 
dies, less  scandalous  and  of  a  subtler  poignancy, 
arising  from  irreconcilable  differences  and  from 
that  fear  of  tlie  Incomprehensible  that  hangs  over 
all  our  heads — over  all  our  heads.  .  .  ." 
[159  1 


AMY    FOSTER 

The  tired  cliestnut  dropped  into  a  walk ;  and  the 
rim  of  the  sun,  all  red  in  a  speckless  sky,  touched 
familiarly  the  smooth  top  of  a  ploughed  rise  near 
the  road  as  I  had  seen  it  times  innumerable  touch 
the  distant  horizon  of  the  sea.  The  uniform 
brownness  of  the  harrowed  field  glowed  with  a  rosy 
tinge,  as  though  the  powdered  clods  had  sweated 
out  in  minute  pearls  of  blood  the  toil  of  uncounted 
ploughmen.  From  the  edge  of  a  copse  a  waggon 
with  two  horses  was  rolling  gently  along  the  ridge. 
Raised  above  our  heads  upon  the  sky-line,  it  loomed 
up  against  the  red  sun,  triumphantly  big,  enor- 
mous, like  a  chariot  of  giants  drawn  by  two  slow- 
stepping  steeds  of  legendary  proportions.  And 
the  clumsy  figure  of  the  man  plodding  at  the  head 
of  the  leading  horse  projected  itself  on  the  back- 
ground of  the  Infinite  with  a  heroic  uncouthness. 
The  end  of  liis  carter's  whip  quivered  high  up  in 
the  blue.     Kenned}^  discoursed. 

"  She's  the  eldest  of  a  large  family.  At  the  age 
of  fifteen  thej-  put  her  out  to  service  at  the  New 
Barns  Farm.  I  attended  Mrs.  Smith,  the  tenant's 
wife,  and  saw  that  girl  there  for  the  first  time. 
Mrs.  Smith,  a  genteel  person  with  a  sharp  nose, 
[160] 


AMY    FOSTER 

made  her  put  on  a  black  dress  every  afternoon.  I 
don't  know  wliat  induced  me  to  notice  her  at  all. 
There  are  faces  that  call  your  attention  by  a  cu- 
rious want  of  definiteness  in  their  whole  aspect,  as, 
walking  in  a  mist,  you  peer  attentively  at  a  vague 
shape  which,  after  all,  may  be  nothing  more  cu- 
rious or  strange  than  a  signpost.  The  only  pecu- 
liarit}'  I  perceived  in  her  was  a  slight  hesitation  in 
her  utterance,  a  sort  of  preliminary  stammer  which 
passes  away  with  the  first  word.  When  sharply 
spoken  to,  she  was  apt  to  lose  her  head  at  once ;  but 
her  heart  was  of  the  kindest.  She  had  never  been 
heard  to  express  a  dishke  for  a  single  human  being, 
and  she  was  tender  to  every  living  creature.  She 
was  devoted  to  Mrs.  Smith,  to  Mr.  Smith,  to  their 
dogs,  cats,  canaries ;  and  as  to  INIrs.  Smith's  grey 
parrot,  its  peculiarities  exercised  upon  her  a  posi- 
tive fascination.  Nevertheless,  when  that  outland- 
ish bird,  attacked  by  the  cat,  shrieked  for  help  in 
human  accents,  she  ran  out  into  the  yard  stopping 
her  ears,  and  did  not  prevent  the  crime.  For  Mrs. 
Smith  this  was  another  evidence  of  her  stupidity; 
on  the  other  hand,  her  want  of  charm,  in  view  of 
Smith's  well-known  frivolousness,  was  a  great  rec- 
[161] 


AMY    FOSTER 

ommendation.  Her  short-sighted  eyes  would  swim 
with  pity  for  a  poor  mouse  in  a  trap,  and  she  had 
been  seen  once  by  some  boys  on  her  knees  in  the  wet 
grass  helping  a  toad  in  difficulties.  If  it's  true,  as 
some  German  fellow  has  said,  that  without  phos- 
phorus there  is  no  thought,  it  is  still  more  true  that 
there  is  no  kindness  of  heart  without  a  certain 
amount  of  imagination.  She  had  some.  She  had 
even  more  than  is  necessary  to  understand  suffer- 
ing and  to  be  moved  by  pity.  She  fell  in  love  un- 
der circumstances  that  leave  no  room  for  doubt  in 
the  matter;  for  you  need  imagination  to  form  a 
notion  of  beauty  at  all,  and  still  more  to  discover 
your  ideal  in  an  unfamiliar  shape. 

"  How  this  aptitude  came  to  her,  what  it  did 
feed  upon,  is  an  inscrutable  mystery.  She  was 
born  in  the  village,  and  had  never  been  further 
away  from  it  than  Colebrook  or  perhaps  Darnford. 
She  lived  for  four  years  with  the  Smiths.  New 
Barns  is  an  isolated  farmhouse  a  mile  away  from 
the  road,  and  she  was  content  to  look  day  after 
da}-  at  the  same  fields,  hollows,  rises ;  at  the  trees 
and  the  hedgerows;  at  the  faces  of  the  four  men 
about  the  farm,  always  the  same — day  after  day, 
[162] 


AMY    FOSTER 

month  after  month,  year  after  year.  She  never 
showed  a  desire  for  conversation,  and,  as  it  seemed 
to  me,  she  did  not  know  how  to  smile.  Sometimes 
of  a  fine  Sunday  afternoon  she  would  put  on  lier 
best  dress,  a  pair  of  stout  boots,  a  large  grey  hat 
trimmed  with  a  black  feather  (I've  seen  her  in  that 
finery),  seize  an  absurdly  slender  parasol,  climb 
over  two  stiles,  tramp  over  three  fields  and  along 
two  hundred  yards  of  road — never  further.  There 
stood  Foster's  cottage.  She  would  help  her  mother 
to  give  their  tea  to  the  younger  children,  wash  up 
the  crockery,  kiss  the  little  ones,  and  go  back  to 
the  farm.  That  Avas  all.  All  the  rest,  all  the 
change,  all  the  relaxation.  She  never  seemed  to 
wish  for  anything  more.  And  then  she  fell  in  love. 
She  fell  in  love  silently,  obstinately — perhaps  help- 
lessly. It  came  slowly,  but  when  it  came  it  worked 
like  a  powerful  spell;  it  was  love  as  the  Ancients 
understood  it :  an  irresistible  and  fateful  impulse — 
a  possession !  Yes,  it  was  in  her  to  become  haunted 
and  possessed  by  a  face,  by  a  presence,  fatally,  as 
though  she  had  been  a  pagan  worshipper  of  form 
under  a  joyous  sky — and  to  be  awakened  at  last 
from  that  mysterious  forgetfulness  of  self,  from 
[163] 


AMY    FOSTER 
that    enchantment,    from    that    transport,    by    a 
fear    resembhng    the    unaccountable    terror    of    a 
brute.   .   .  ." 

With  the  sun  hanging  low  on  its  western  limit, 
the  expanse  of  the  grass-lands  framed  in  the  coun- 
ter-scarps of  the  rising  ground  took  on  a  gorgeous 
and  sombre  aspect.  A  sense  of  penetrating  sad- 
ness, like  that  inspired  by  a  grave  strain  of  music, 
disengaged  itself  from  the  silence  of  the  fields. 
The  men  we  met  walked  past  slow,  unsmiling,  with 
downcast  eyes,  as  if  the  melancholy  of  an  over-bur- 
dened earth  had  Aveighted  their  feet,  bowed  their 
shoulders,  borne  down  their  glances. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  doctor  to  my  remark,  "  one 
would  think  the  earth  is  under  a  curse,  since  of  all 
her  children  these  that  cling  to  her  the  closest  are 
uncouth  in  body  and  as  leaden  of  gait  as  if  their 
very  hearts  were  loaded  with  chains.  But  here  on 
this  same  road  you  might  have  seen  amongst  these 
heavy  men  a  being  lithe,  supple,  and  long-limbed, 
straight  like  a  pine  with  something  striving  up- 
wards in  his  appearance  as  though  the  heart  witli- 
in  him  had  been  buoyant.  Perhaps  it  was  only  tlie 
force  of  the  contrast,  but  Avhen  he  was  passing  one 
[164<] 


AMY    FOSTER 

of  these  villagers  here,  the  soles  of  his  feet  did  not 
seem  to  me  to  touch  the  dust  of  the  road.  He 
vaulted  over  the  stiles,  paced  these  slopes  with  a 
long  elastic  stride  that  made  him  noticeable  at  a 
great  distance,  and  had  lustrous  black  eyes.  He 
was  so  different  from  the  mankind  around  that, 
with  his  freedom  of  movement,  his  soft — a  little 
startled,  glance,  his  olive  complexion  and  graceful 
bearing,  his  humanity  suggested  to  me  the  nature 
of  a  woodland  creature.     He  came  from  there." 

The  doctor  pointed  with  his  whip,  and  from  the 
summit  of  the  descent  seen  over  the  rolling  tops  of 
the  trees  in  a  park  b}^  the  side  of  the  road,  appeared 
the  level  sea  far  below  us,  like  the  floor  of  an  im- 
mense edifice  inlaid  with  bands  of  dark  ripple,  with 
still  trails  of  glitter,  ending  in  a  belt  of  glassy 
water  at  the  foot  of  the  sky.  The  light  blur  of 
smoke,  from  an  invisible  steamer,  faded  on  the 
great  clearness  of  the  horizon  like  the  mist  of  a 
breath  on  a  mirror ;  and,  inshore,  the  white  sails  of 
a  coaster,  with  the  appearance  of  disentangling 
themselves  slowly  from  under  the  branches,  floated 
clear  of  the  foliage  of  the  trees. 

"  Shipwrecked  in  the  bay  ?  "  I  said. 
[165] 


AMY  FOSTER 
"Yes;  he  was  a  castaway.  A  poor  emigrant 
from  Central  Europe  bound  to  America  and  washed 
ashore  here  in  a  storm.  And  for  him,  who  knew 
nothing  of  the  earth,  England  was  an  undiscovered 
country.  It  was  some  time  before  he  learned  its 
name ;  and  for  all  I  know  he  might  have  expected 
to  find  wild  beasts  or  wild  men  here,  when,  crawling 
in  the  dark  over  the  sea-wall,  he  rolled  down  the 
other  side  into  a  dyke,  where  it  was  another  miracle 
he  didn't  get  drowned.  But  he  struggled  instinc- 
tively like  an  animal  under  a  net,  and  this  blind 
struggle  threw  him  out  into  a  field.  He  must  have 
been,  indeed,  of  a  tougher  fibre  than  he  looked  to 
withstand  without  expiring  such  buffetings,  the 
violence  of  his  exertions,  and  so  much  fear.  Later 
on,  in  his  broken  English  that  resembled  curiously 
the  speech  of  a  young  child,  he  told  me  himself  that 
he  put  his  trust  in  God,  believing  he  was  no  longer 
in  this  world.  And  truly — he  would  add — how  was 
he  to  know?  He  fought  his  way  against  the  rain 
and  the  gale  on  all  fours,  and  crawled  at  last 
among  some  sheep  huddled  close  under  the  lee  of  a 
hedge.  They  ran  off  in  all  directions,  bleating  in 
the  darkness,  and  he  welcomed  the  first  familiar 
[166] 


AMY    FOSTER 

sound  he  heard  on  these  shores.  It  must  have  been 
two  in  the  morning  then.  And  this  is  all  we  know 
of  the  manner  of  his  landing,  though  he  did  not 
arrive  unattended  by  any  means.  Only  his  grisly 
company  did  not  begin  to  come  ashore  till  much 
later  in  the  day.  .  .  ." 

The  doctor  gathered  the  reins,  clicked  his 
tongue;  we  trotted  down  the  hill.  Then  turning, 
almost  directly,  a  sharp  comer  into  the  High 
Street,  we  rattled  over  the  stones  and  were  home. 

Late  in  the  evening  Kennedy,  breaking  a  spell 
of  moodiness  that  had  come  over  him,  returned  to 
the  story.  Smoking  his  pipe,  he  paced  the  long 
room  from  end  to  end.  A  reading-lamp  concen- 
trated all  its  light  upon  the  papers  on  his  desk; 
and,  sitting  by  the  open  window,  I  saw,  after  the 
windless,  scorching  day,  the  frigid  splendour  of  a 
hazy  sea  lying  motionless  under  the  moon.  Not  a 
whisper,  not  a  splash,  not  a  stir  of  the  shingle,  not 
a  footstep,  not  a  sigh  came  up  from  the  earth  be- 
low— never  a  sign  of  life  but  the  scent  of  climbing 
jasmine;  and  Kennedy's  voice,  speaking  behind  me, 
passed  through  the  wide  casement,  to  vanish  out- 
•idt  in  a  chill  and  lumptuoui  itiUntM. 


AMY    FOSTER 

".  .  .  The  relations  of  shipwrecks  in  the 
olden  time  tell  us  of  much  suffering.  Often  the 
castaways  were  only  saved  from  drowning  to  die 
miserably  from  starvation  on  a  barren  coast;  oth- 
ers suffered  violent  death  or  else  slavery,  passing 
through  years  of  precarious  existence  with  people 
to  whom  their  strangeness  was  an  object  of  suspi- 
cion, dislike  or  fear.  We  read  about  these  things, 
and  they  are  very  pitiful.  It  is  indeed  hard  upon 
a  man  to  find  himself  a  lost  stranger,  helpless, 
incomprehensible,  and  of  a  m3\sterious  origin,  in 
some  obscure  corner  of  the  earth.  Yet  amongst  all 
the  adventurers  shipwrecked  in  all  the  wild  parts  of 
the  world  there  is  not  one,  it  seems  to  me,  that  ever 
had  to  suffer  a  fate  so  simply  tragic  as  the  man  I 
am  speaking  of,  the  most  innocent  of  adventurers 
cast  out  by  the  sea  in  the  bight  of  this  bay,  almost 
within  sight  from  this  very  window. 

"  He  did  not  know  the  name  of  his  ship.  Indeed, 
in  the  course  of  time  we  discovered  he  did  not  even 
know  that  ships  had  names — *  like  Christian  peo- 
ple ' ;  and  when,  one  day,  from  the  top  of  the  Tal- 
fourd  Hill,  he  beheld  the  sea  lying  open  to  his  view, 
his  eyes  roamed  afar,  lost  In  an  air  of  wild  surprise, 
[  168  ] 


AMY    FOSTER 

as  though  lie  had  never  seen  such  a  sight  before. 
And  probably  he  liad  not.  As  far  as  I  could  make 
out,  he  had  been  hustled  together  with  many  others 
on  board  an  emigrant-ship  lying  at  the  moutli  of 
the  Elbe,  too  bewildered  to  take  note  of  his  sur- 
roundings, too  weary  to  see  anything,  too  anxious 
to  care.  They  were  driven  below  into  the  'tween- 
deck  and  battened  down  from  the  very  start.  It 
was  a  low  timber  dwelling — he  would  say — with 
wooden  beams  overhead,  like  the  houses  in  his  coun- 
try, but  you  went  into  it  down  a  ladder.  It  was 
very  large,  very  cold,  damp  and  sombre,  with  places 
in  the  manner  of  wooden  boxes  where  people  had  to 
sleep,  one  above  another,  and  it  kept  on  rocking  all 
ways  at  once  all  the  time.  He  crept  into  one  of 
these  boxes  and  laid  down  there  in  the  clothes  in 
which  he  had  left  his  home  many  days  before,  keep- 
ing his  bundle  and  his  stick  by  his  side.  People 
groaned,  children  cried,  water  dripped,  the  lights 
went  out,  the  walls  of  the  place  creaked,  and  every- 
thing was  being  shaken  so  that  in  one's  little  box 
one  dared  not  lift  one's  head.  He  had  lost  touch 
with  his  only  companion  (a  young  man  from  the 
same  valley,  he  said),  and  all  the  time  a  great  noise 
[169] 


AMY    FOSTER 

of  wind  went  on  outside  and  heavy  blows  fell- 
boom  !  boom !  An  awful  sickness  overcame  him, 
even  to  the  point  of  making  him  neglect  his  pray- 
ers. Besides,  one  could  not  tell  whether  it  was 
morning  or  evening.  It  seemed  always  to  be  night 
in  that  place. 

"  Before  that  he  had  been  travelling  a  long,  long 
time  on  the  iron  track.  He  looked  out  of  the  win' 
dow,  which  had  a  wonderfully  clear  glass  in  it,  anu 
the  trees,  the  houses,  the  fields,  and  the  long  roads 
seemed  to  fly  round  and  round  about  him  till  his 
head  swam.  He  gave  me  to  understand  that  he  had 
on  his  passage  beheld  uncounted  multitudes  of  peo- 
ple— whole  nations — all  dressed  in  such  clothes  as 
the  rich  wear.  Once  he  was  made  to  get  out  of  the 
carriage,  and  slept  through  a  night  on  a  bench  in 
a  house  of  bricks  with  his  bundle  under  his  head; 
and  once  for  many  hours  he  had  to  sit  on  a  floor  of 
flat  stones  dozing,  with  his  knees  up  and  with  his 
bundle  between  his  feet.  There  was  a  roof  over  him, 
which  seemed  made  of  glass,  and  was  so  high  that 
the  tallest  mountain-pine  he  had  ever  seen  would 
have  had  room  to  grow  under  it.  Steam-machines 
rolled  in  at  one  end  and  out  at  the  other.  People 
[170] 


AMY    FOSTER 

swarmed  more  than  you  can  see  on  a  feast-day 
round  the  miraculous  Holj  Image  in  the  yard  of 
the  Carmelite  Convent  down  in  the  plains  where, 
before  he  left  his  home,  he  drove  his  mother  in  a 
wooden  cart — a  pious  old  woman  who  wanted  to 
offer  prayers  and  make  a  vow  for  his  safety.  He 
could  not  give  me  an  idea  of  how  large  and  lofty 
and  full  of  noise  and  smoke  and  gloom,  and  clang 
of  iron,  the  place  was,  but  some  one  had  told  him 
it  was  called  Berlin.  Then  they  rang  a  bell,  and 
another  steam-machine  came  in,  and  again  he  was 
taken  on  and  on  through  a  land  that  wearied  his 
eyes  by  its  flatness  without  a  single  bit  of  a  hill  to 
be  seen  anywhere.  One  more  night  he  spent  shut 
up  in  a  building  like  a  good  stable  with  a  litter  of 
straw  on  the  floor,  guarding  his  bundle  amongst  a 
lot  of  men,  of  whom  not  one  could  understand  a 
single  word  he  said.  In  the  morning  they  were  all 
led  down  to  the  stony  shores  of  an  extremely  broad 
muddy  river,  flowing  not  between  hills  but  between 
houses  that  seemed  immense.  There  was  a  steam- 
machine  that  went  on  the  water,  and  they  all  stood 
upon  it  packed  tight,  only  now  there  were  with 
them  many  women  and  children  who  made  much 
[171] 


AMY    FOSTER 
noise.    A  cold  rain  fell,  the  wind  blew  in  his  face ; 
he  was  wet  through,  and  his  teeth  chattered.     He 
and  the  }■  oung  man  from  the  same  valley  took  each 
other  by  the  hand. 

"  They  thought  they  were  being  taken  to  Amer- 
ica straight  away,  but  suddenly  the  steam-machine 
bumped  against  the  side  of  a  thing  like  a  house  on 
the  water.  The  walls  were  smooth  and  black,  and 
there  uprose,  growing  from  the  roof  as  it  were, 
bare  trees  in  the  shape  of  crosses,  extremely  high. 
That's  how  it  appeared  to  him  then,  for  he  had 
never  seen  a  ship  before.  This  was  the  ship  that 
was  going  to  swim  all  the  way  to  America.  Voices 
shouted,  everything  swayed;  there  was  a  ladder 
dipping  up  and  down.  He  went  up  on  his  hands 
and  knees  in  mortal  fear  of  falling  into  the  water 
below,  which  made  a  great  splashing.  He  got  sep- 
arated from  his  companion,  and  when  he  descended 
into  the  bottom  of  that  ship  his  heart  seemed  to  melt 
suddenly  within  him. 

"  It  was  then  also,  as  he  told  me,  that  he  lost  con- 
tact for  good  and  all  with  one  of  those  three  men 
who   the    summer   before    had    been    going   about 
through  all  the  little  towns  in  the  foothills  of  his 
[172] 


AMY    FOSTER 

country.  They  would  arrive  on  market  days  driv- 
ing in  a  peasant's  cart,  and  would  set  up  an  office 
in  an  inn  or  some  other  Jew's  house.  There  were 
three  of  them,  of  whom  one  with  a  long  beard 
looked  venerable;  and  they  had  red  cloth  collars 
round  their  necks  and  gold  lace  on  their  sleeves 
like  Government  officials.  They  sat  proudly  behind 
a  long  table ;  and  in  the  next  room,  so  that  the  com- 
mon people  shouldn't  hear,  they  kept  a  cunning 
telegraph  machine,  through  which  they  could  talk 
to  the  Emperor  of  America.  The  fathers  hung 
about  the  door,  but  the  young  men  of  the  mountains 
would  crowd  up  to  the  table  asking  many  questions, 
for  there  was  work  to  be  got  all  the  year  round  at 
three  dollars  a  day  in  America,  and  no  military 
service  to  do. 

"But  the  American  Kaiser  would  not  take  every- 
body. Oh,  no !  He  himself  had  a  great  difficulty 
in  getting  accepted,  and  the  venerable  man  in  uni- 
form had  to  go  out  of  the  room  several  times  to 
work  the  telegraph  on  his  behalf.  The  American 
Kaiser  engaged  him  at  last  at  three  dollars,  he 
being  young  and  strong.  However,  many  able 
young  men  backed  out,  afraid  of  the  great  di*- 
[173; 


AMY  FOSTER 
tance;  besides,  those  only  who  had  some  money 
could  be  taken.  There  were  some  who  sold  their 
huts  and  their  land  because  it  cost  a  lot  of  money 
to  get  to  America;  but  then,  once  there,  you  had 
three  dollars  a  day,  and  if  you  were  clever  you 
could  find  places  where  true  gold  could  be  picked 
up  on  the  ground.  His  father's  house  was  getting 
over  full.  Two  of  his  brothers  were  married  and 
had  children.  He  promised  to  send  money  home 
from  America  by  post  twice  a  year.  His  father 
sold  an  old  cow,  a  pair  of  piebald  mountain  ponies 
of  his  own  raising,  and  a  cleared  plot  of  fair  pas- 
ture land  on  the  sunny  slope  of  a  pine-clad  pass  to 
a  Jew  inn-keeper  in  order  to  pay  the  people  of  the 
ship  that  took  men  to  America  to  get  rich  in  a 
short  time. 

"  He  must  have  been  a  real  adventurer  at  heart, 
for  how  many  of  the  greatest  enterprises  in  the 
conquest  of  the  earth  had  for  their  beginning  just 
such  a  bargaining  away  of  the  paternal  cow  for  the 
mirage  or  true  gold  far  away !  I  have  been  telling 
you  more  or  less  in  my  own  words  what  I  learned 
fragmentarily  in  the  course  of  two  or  three  3'ears, 
during  which  I  seldom  missed  an  opportunity  of  a 
[174] 


AMY    FOSTER 

friendly  chat  with  him.  He  told  me  this  story  of 
his  adventure  with  many  flashes  of  white  teeth  and 
lively  glances  of  black  eyes,  at  first  in  a  sort  of  anx- 
ious baby-talk,  then,  as  he  acquired  the  language, 
with  great  fluency,  but  alwa3's  with  that  singing, 
soft,  and  at  the  same  time  vibrating  intonation  that 
instilled  a  strangel}''  penetrating  power  into  the 
sound  of  the  most  familiar  English  words,  as  if 
they  had  been  the  words  of  an  unearthly  language. 
And  he  always  would  come  to  an  end,  with  many 
emphatic  shakes  of  his  head,  upon  that  awful  sen- 
sation of  his  heart  melting  within  him  directly  he 
set  foot  on  board  that  ship.  Afterwards  there 
semed  to  come  for  him  a  period  of  blank  ignorance, 
at  any  rate  as  to  facts.  No  doubt  he  must  have 
been  abominably  sea-sick  and  abominably  unhappy 
— this  soft  and  passionate  adventurer,  taken  thus 
out  of  his  knowledge,  and  feeling  bitterly  as  he  lay 
in  his  emigrant  bunk  his  utter  loneliness ;  for  his 
was  a  highly  sensitive  nature.  The  next  thing  we 
know  of  him  for  certain  is  that  he  had  been  hiding 
in  Hammond's  pig-pound  by  the  side  of  the  road 
to  Norton  six  miles,  as  the  crow  flies,  from  the  sea. 
Of  these  experiences  he  was  unwilling  to  speak: 
[175] 


AMY    FOSTER 

they  seemed  to  have  seared  into  his  soul  a  sombre 
sort  of  wonder  and  indignation.  Through  the  ru- 
mours of  the  country-side,  which  lasted  for  a  good 
man}'  days  after  his  arrival,  we  know  that  the  fish- 
ermen of  West  Colebrook  had  been  disturbed  and 
startled  by  heavy  knocks  against  the  walls  of 
weatherboard  cottages,  and  by  a  voice  crying 
piercingly  strange  words  in  the  night.  Se"eral  of 
them  turned  out  even,  but,  no  doubt,  he  had  fled  in 
sudden  alarm  at  their  rough  angry  tones  hailing 
each  other  in  the  darkness.  A  sort  of  frenzy  must 
have  helped  him  up  the  steep  Norton  hill.  It  was 
he,  no  doubt,  who  early  the  following  morning  had 
been  seen  lying  (in  a  swoon,  I  should  say)  on  the 
roadside  grass  by  the  Brenzett  carrier,  who  actually 
got  down  to  have  a  nearer  look,  but  drew  back,  in- 
timidated by  the  perfect  immobility,  and  by  some- 
thing queer  in  the  aspect  of  that  tramp,  sleeping 
so  still  under  the  showers.  As  the  day  advanced, 
some  children  came  dashing  into  school  at  Norton 
in  such  a  fright  that  the  schoolmistress  went  out 
and  spoke  indignantly  to  a  '  horrid-looking  man  ' 
on  the  road.  He  edged  away,  hanging  his  head, 
for  a  few  steps,  and  then  suddenly  ran  off  with  ex- 
[176] 


AMY    FOSTER 

traordlnarj  fleetness.  The  driver  of  Mr.  Brad- 
ley's milk-cart  made  no  secret  of  it  that  he  had 
lashed  with  his  whip  at  a  hairy  sort  of  gipsy  fel- 
low who,  jumping  up  at  a  turn  of  the  road  by  the 
Agents,  made  a  snatch  at  the  pony's  bridle.  And 
he  caught  him  a  good  one  too,  right  over  the  face, 
he  said,  that  made  him  drop  down  in  the  mud  a 
jolly  sight  quicker  than  he  had  jumped  up;  but  it 
was  a  good  half-a-mile  before  he  could  stop  the 
pony.  Maybe  that  in  his  desperate  endeavours  to 
get  help,  and  in  his  need  to  get  in  touch  with  some 
one,  the  poor  devil  had  tried  to  stop  the  cart.  Also 
three  boys  confessed  afterwards  to  throwing  stonesi 
at  a  funny  tramp,  knocking  about  all  wet  and 
nmddy,  and,  it  seemed,  very  drunk,  in  the  narrow 
deep  lane  by  the  limekilns.  All  this  was  the  talk  of 
three  villages  for  days ;  but  we  have  Mrs.  Finn's 
(the  wife  of  Smith's  waggoner)  unimpeachable 
testimony  that  she  saw  him  get  over  the  low  wall  of 
Hammond's  pig-pound  and  lurch  straight  at  her, 
babbling  aloud  in  a  voice  that  was  enough  to  make 
one  die  of  fright.  Having  the  baby  with  her  in  a 
perambulator,  IMrs.  Finn  called  out  to  him  to  go 
away,  and  as  he  persisted  in  coming  nearer,  she  hit 
[177] 


AMY    FOSTER 

him  courageously  with  her  umbrella  over  the  head: 
and,  without  once  looking  back,  ran  like  the  wind 
with  the  perambulator  as  far  as  the  first  house  in 
the  village.  She  stopped  then,  out  of  breath,  and 
spoke  to  old  Lewis,  hammering  there  at  a  heap  of 
stones;  and  the  old  chap,  taking  off  his  immense 
black  wire  goggles,  got  up  on  his  shaky  legs  to 
look  where  she  pointed.  Together  they  followed 
with  their  eyes  the  figure  of  the  man  running  over 
a  field;  they  saw  him  fall  down,  pick  himself  up, 
and  run  on  again,  staggering  and  waving  his  long 
arms  above  his  head,  in  the  direction  of  the  New 
Barns  Farm.  From  that  moment  he  is  plainly  in 
the  toils  of  his  obscure  and  touching  destiny. 
There  is  no  doubt  after  this  of  what  happened  to 
him.  All  is  certain  now:  Mrs.  Smith's  intense  ter- 
ror; Amy  Foster's  stolid  conviction  held  against 
the  other's  nei'\'ous  attack,  that  the  man  '  meant  no 
harm  ' ;  Smith's  exasperation  ( on  his  return  from 
Darnford  Market)  at  finding  the  dog  barking 
himself  into  a  fit,  the  back-door  locked,  his  wife  in 
hysterics ;  and  all  for  an  unfortunate  dirty  tramp, 
supposed  to  be  even  then  lurking  in  his  stackyarh. 
Was  he  ?  He  would  teach  him  to  frighten  women. 
[178] 


AMY    FOSTER 

"  Smith  is  notoriously  hot-tempered,  but  the 
sight  of  some  nondescript  and  miry  creature  sitting 
crosslegged  amongst  a  lot  of  loose  straw,  and 
swinging  itself  to  and  fro  like  a  bear  in  a  cage, 
made  him  pause.  Then  this  tramp  stood  up  si- 
lently before  him,  one  mass  of  mud  and  filth  from 
head  to  foot.  Smith,  alone  amongst  his  stacks  with 
this  apparition,  in  the  stormy  twilight  ringing  with 
the  infuriated  barking  of  the  dog,  felt  the  dread 
of  an  inexplicable  strangeness.  But  when  that  be- 
ing, parting  with  his  black  hands  the  long  matted 
locks  that  hung  before  his  face,  as  you  part  the  two 
halves  of  a  curtain,  looked  out  at  him  with  glisten- 
ing, wild,  black-and-white  eyes,  the  weirdness  of 
this  silent  encounter  fairly  staggered  him.  He  had 
admitted  since  (for  the  story  has  been  a  legitimate 
subject  of  conversation  about  here  for  3'ears)  that 
he  madfe  more  than  one  step  backwards.  Then  a 
sudden  burst  of  rapid,  senseless  speech  persuaded 
him  at  once  that  he  had  to  do  with  an  escaped  luna- 
tic. In  fact,  that  impression  never  wore  off  com- 
pletely. Smith  has  not  in  his  heart  given  up  his 
secret  conviction  of  the  man's  essential  insanity  to 
this  very  day. 

[179] 


AMY    FOSTER 

"  As  the  creature  approached  him,  jabbering  in 
a  most  discomposing  manner,  Smith  (unaware  that 
he  was  being  addressed  as  '  gracious  lord,'  and  ad- 
jured in  God's  name  to  afford  food  and  shelter) 
kept  on  speaking  firmly  but  gently  to  it,  and  re- 
treating all  the  time  into  the  other  yard.  At  last, 
watching  his  chance,  by  a  sudden  charge  he  bun- 
dled him  headlong  into  the  wood-lodge,  and  in- 
stantly shot  the  bolt.  Thereupon  he  wiped  his 
brow,  though  the  day  was  cold.  He  had  done  his 
duty  to  the  community  by  shutting  up  a  Avander- 
ing  and  probably  dangerous  maniac.  Smith  isn't 
a  hard  man  at  all,  but  he  had  room  in  his  brain  only 
for  that  one  idea  of  lunacy.  He  was  not  imagina- 
tive enough  to  ask  himself  whether  the  man  might 
not  be  perishing  with  cold  and  hunger.  Meantime, 
at  first,  the  maniac  made  a  great  deal, of  noise  in 
the  lodge.  Mrs.  Smith  was  screaming  upstairs, 
where  she  had  locked  herself  in  her  bedroom;  but 
Amy  Foster  sobbed  piteously  at  the  kitchen  door, 
wringing  her  hands  and  muttering,  '  Don't ! 
don't ! '  I  daresay  Smith  had  a  rough  time  of  it 
that  evening  with  one  noise  and  another,  and  this 
insane,  disturbing  voice  crying  obstinately  through 
[180] 


AMY    FOSTER 

the  door  only  added  to  his  irritation.  He  couldn't 
possibly  have  connected  this  troublesome  lunatic 
with  the  sinking  of  a  ship  in  Eastbay,  of  which 
there  had  been  a  rumour  in  the  Darnford  market- 
place. And  I  daresay  the  man  inside  had  been  very 
near  to  insanity  on  that  night.  Before  his  excite- 
ment collapsed  and  he  became  unconscious  he  was 
throwing  himself  violently  about  in  the  dark,  roll- 
ing on  some  dirty  sacks,  and  biting  his  fists  with 
rage,  cold,  hunger,  amazement,  and  despair. 

"  He  was  a  mountaineer  of  the  eastern  range  of 
the  Carpathians,  and  the  vessel  sunk  the  night  be- 
fore in  Eastbay  was  the  Hamburg  emigrant-ship 
Hcrzogiii  Sophia-Dorothea,  of  appalling  mem- 
ory. 

"  A  few  months  later  we  could  read  In  the  papers 
the  accounts  of  the  bogus  '  Emigration  Agencies  ' 
among  the  Sclavonian  peasantry  in  the  more  re- 
mote provinces  of  Austria.  The  object  of  these 
scoundrels  was  to  get  hold  of  the  poor  ignorant 
people's  homesteads,  and  they  were  in  league  with 
the  local  usurers.  They  exported  their  victims 
through  Hamburg  mostly.  As  to  the  ship,  I  had 
watched  her  out  of  this  very  window,  reaching 
[181] 


AMY    FOSTER 

close-hauled  under  short  canvas  into  the  bay  on  a 
dark,  threatening  afternoon.  She  came  to  an  an- 
chor, correctly  by  the  chart,  off  the  Brenzett  Coast- 
guard station.  I  remember  before  the  night  fell 
locking  out  again  at  the  outlines  of  her  spars  and 
ringing  tkiat  stood  out  dark  and  pointed  on  a  back- 
ground of  ragged,  slaty  clouds  like  another  and  a 
slighter  spire  to  the  left  of  the  Brenzett  church- 
tower.  In  the  evening  the  wind  rose.  At  midnight 
I  could  hear  in  my  bed  the  terrific  gusts  and  the 
sounds  of  a  driving  deluge. 

"  About  that  time  the  Coastguardmen  thought 
they  saw  the  lights  of  a  steamer  over  the  anchoring- 
ground.  In  a  moment  they  vanished ;  but  it  is  clear 
that  another  vessel  of  some  sort  had  tried  for  shel- 
ter in  the  bay  on  that  awful,  blind  night,  had 
rammed  the  German  ship  amidships  (a  breach — 
as  one  of  the  divers  told  me  afterwards — '  that  you 
could  sail  a  Thames  barge  through  '),  and  then 
had  gone  out  either  scathless  or  damaged,  who  shall 
say;  but  had  gone  out,  unknown,  unseen,  and  fatal, 
to  perish  mysteriously  at  sea.  Of  her  nothing  ever 
came  to  light,  and  yet  the  hue  and  cry  that  was 
raised  all  over  the  world  would  have  found  her  out 
[182] 


AMY    FOSTER 

if  she  had  been  in  existence  anywhere  on  the  face 
of  the  waters. 

"  A  completeness  without  a  clue,  and  a  stealthy 
silence  as  of  a  neatly  executed  crime,  characterise 
this  murderous  disaster,  which,  as  you  may  remem- 
ber, had  its  gruesome  celebrity.  The  wind  would 
have  prevented  the  loudest  outcries  from  reaching 
the  shore ;  there  had  been  evidently  no  time  for  sig- 
nals of  distress.  It  was  death  without  any  sort  of 
fuss.  The  Hamburg  ship,  filling  all  at  once,  cap- 
sized as  she  sank,  and  at  daylight  there  was  not 
even  the  end  of  a  spar  to  be  seen  above  water.  Sl:e 
was  missed,  of  ccurie,  and  at  first  the  Coastguard- 
men  surmised  that  she  had  either  dragged  :.cr  an- 
chor or  parted  lier  cable  some  time  during  the 
night,  and  had  been  blown  out  to  sea.  Then,  after 
the  tide  turned,  the  wreck  must  have  shifted  a  little 
and  released  some  of  the  '^ndies,  because  a  child 
— a  little  fair-haired  child  in  a  red  frock — 
came  ashore  abreast  of  the  Martrllo  tower.  By 
the  afternoon  you  could  see  along  three  miles  of 
beach  dark  figures  with  bare  legs  dashing  in 
and  out  of  the  tumbling  foam,  and  rough-look- 
ing men,  women  with  hard  faces,  children,  mostly 
[183] 


AMY    FOSTER 

fair-haired,  were  being  carried,  stiff  and  dripping, 
on  stretchers,  on  wattles,  on  ladders,  in  a  long 
procession  past  the  door  of  the  '  Ship  Inn,'  to  be 
laid  out  in  a  row  under  the  north  wall  of  the 
Brenzett  Church. 

"  Officially,  the  body  of  the  little  girl  in  the  red 
frock  is  the  first  thing  that  came  ashore  from  that 
ship.  But  I  have  patients  amongst  the  seafaring 
population  of  West  Colebrook,  and,  unofficially,  I 
am  informed  that  very  early  that  morning  two 
brothers,  who  went  down  to  look  after  their  cobble 
hauled  up  on  the  beach,  found,  a  good  way  from 
Brenzett,  an  ordinary  ship's  hencoop  lying  high 
and  dry  on  the  shore,  with  eleven  drowned  ducks 
inside.  Their  families  ate  the  birds,  and  the  hen- 
coop was  split  into  firewood  with  a  hatchet.  It  is 
possible  that  a  man  (supposing  he  happened  to  be 
on  deck  at  the  time  of  the  accident)  might  have 
floated  ashore  on  that  hencoop.  He  might.  I  ad- 
mit it  is  improbable,  but  there  was  the  man — and 
for  days,  nay,  for  weeks — it  didn't  enter  our  heads 
that  we  had  amongst  us  the  only  living  soul  that 
had  escaped  from  that  disaster.  The  man  himself, 
even  when  he  learned  to  speak  intelligibly,  could 
[184] 


AMY    FOSTER 

tell  us  very  little.  He  remembered  he  had  felt  bet- 
ter (after  the  ship  had  anchored,  I  suppose),  and 
that  the  darkness,  the  wind,  and  the  rain  took  his 
breath  away.  This  looks  as  if  he  had  been  on  deck 
some  time  during  that  night.  But  we  mustn't  forget 
he  had  been  taken  out  of  his  knowledge,  that  he 
had  been  sea-sick  and  battened  down  below  for  four 
daj's,  that  he  had  no  general  notion  of  a  ship  or  of 
the  sea,  and  therefore  could  have  no  definite  idea 
of  what  was  happening  to  him.  The  rain,  the 
wind,  the  darkness  he  knew;  he  understood  the 
bleating  of  the  sheep,  and  he  remembered  the  pain 
of  his  wretchedness  and  misery,  his  heartbroken  as- 
tonishment that  it  was  neither  seen  nor  understood, 
his  dismay  at  finding  all  the  men  angry  and  all  the 
women  fierce.  He  had  approached  them  as  a  beg- 
gar, it  is  true,  he  said ;  but  in  his  country,  even  if 
they  gave  nothing,  they  spoke  gently  to  beggars. 
The  children  in  his  country  were  not  taught  to 
throw  stones  at  those  who  asked  for  compassion. 
Smith's  strategy  overcame  him  completely.  The 
wood-lodge  presented  the  horrible  aspect  of  ;i  dwn- 
gcon.  What  would  be  done  to  him  next?  .  ,  . 
No  wonder  that  Amy  Foster  appeared  to  liis  eyes 
[  185  ] 


AMY    FOSTER 

with  the  aureole  of  an  angel  of  light.  The  girl 
had  not  been  able  to  sleep  for  thinking  of  the  poor 
man,  and  in  the  morning,  before  the  Smiths  were 
up,  she  slipped  out  across  the  back  yard.  Holding 
the  door  of  the  wood-lodge  ajar,  she  looked  in  and 
extended  to  him  half  a  loaf  of  white  bread — *  such 
bread  as  the  rich  eat  in  my  country,'  he  used  to 
say. 

"  At  this  he  got  up  slowly  from  amongst  all  sorts 
of  rubbish,  stiff,  hungry,  trembling,  miserable,  and 
doubtful.  *  Can  you  eat  this?'  she  asked  in  her 
soft  and  timid  voice.  He  must  have  taken  her  for 
a  '  gracious  lady.'  He  devoured  ferociously,  and 
tears  were  falling  on  the  crust.  Suddenly  he 
dropped  the  bread,  seized  her  wrist,  and  im- 
printed a  kiss  on  her  hand.  She  was  not  fright- 
ened. Through  his  forlorn  condition  she  had 
observed  that  he  was  good-looking.  She  shut 
the  door  and  walked  back  slowly  to  the  kitchen. 
]Much  later  on,  she  told  ]\Irs.  Smith,  who  shud- 
dered at  the  bare  idea  of  being  touched  by  that 
creature. 

"  Through  this  act  of  impulsive  pity  he  was 
brought  back  again  within  the  pale  of  human  rela- 
[186] 


AMY    FOSTER 

tions  with  his  new  surroundings.     He  never  forgot 
it — never. 

"  That  very  same  morning  old  Mr.  SwafFer 
(Smith's  nearest  neighbour)  came  over  to  give  his 
advice,  and  ended  by  carrying  him  off.  He  stood, 
unsteady  on  his  legs,  meek,  and  caked  over  in  half- 
dried  mud,  while  the  two  men  talked  around  him  in 
an  incomprehensible  tongue.  Mrs.  Smith  had  re- 
fused to  come  downstairs  till  the  madman  was  off 
the  premises ;  Amy  Foster,  far  from  within  the  dark 
kitchen,  watched  through  the  open  back  door ;  and 
he  obeyed  the  signs  that  were  made  to  him  to  the 
best  of  his  ability.  But  Smith  was  full  of  mistrust. 
*  Mind,  sir !  It  may  be  all  his  cunning,'  he  cried 
repeatedly  in  a  tone  of  warning.  When  Mr. 
Swaffer  started  the  mare,  the  deplorable  being  sit- 
ting humbly  by  his  side,  through  weakness,  nearly 
fell  out  over  the  back  of  the  liigh  two-wheeled  cart. 
Swaffer  took  him  straight  home.  And  it  is  then 
that  I  come  upon  the  scene. 

"  I  was  called  in  by  the  simple  process  of  the  old 
man  beckoning  to  me  with  his  forefinger  over  the 
gate  of  his  house  as  I  happened  to  be  driving  past. 
I  got  down,  of  course. 

[187] 


AMY    FOSTER 

"  *  I've  got  something  here,'  he  mumbled,  lead- 
ing the  way  to  an  outhouse  at  a  little  distance  from 
his  other  farm-buildings. 

"  It  was  there  that  I  saw  him  first,  in  a  long  low 
room  taken  upon  the  space  of  that  sort  of  coach- 
house. It  was  bare  and  whitewashed,  with  a  small 
square  aperture  glazed  with  one  cracked,  dusty 
pane  at  its  further  end.  He  was  lying  on  his  back 
upon  a  straw  pallet ;  they  had  given  him  a  couple 
of  horse-blankets,  and  he  seemed  to  have  spent  the 
remainder  of  his  strength  in  the  exertion  of  clean- 
ing himself.  He  was  almost  speechless;  his  quick 
breathing  under  the  blankets  pulled  up  to  his  chin, 
his  glittering,  restless  black  eyes  reminded  me  of  a 
wild  bird  caught  in  a  snare.  While  I  was  examining 
him,  old  Swaffcr  stood  silently  by  the  door,  passing 
the  tips  of  his  fingers  along  his  shaven  upper  lip. 
I  gave  some  directions,  promised  to  send  a  bottle  of 
medicine,  and  naturally  made  some  inquiries. 

"  *  Smith  caught  him  in  the  stackyard  at  New 
Barns,'  said  the  old  chap  in  his  deliberate,  unmoved 
manner,  and  as  if  the  other  had  been  indeed  a  sort 
of  wild  animal.  '  That's  how  I  came  by  him. 
Quite  a  curiosity,  isn't  he?  Now  tell  me,  doctor — ■ 
[188] 


AMY    FOSTER 

you've  been  all  over  the  world — don't  you  think 
that's  a  bit  of  a  Hindoo  we've  got  hold  of  here.' 

"  I  was  greatly  surprised.  His  long  black  hair 
scattered  over  the  straw  bolster  contrasted  with  the 
olive  pallor  of  liis  face.  It  occurred  to  me  he  might 
be  a  Basque.  It  didn't  necessarily  follow  tliat  he 
should  understand  Spanish;  but  I  tried  him  with 
the  few  words  I  know,  and  also  with  some  French. 
The  whispered  sounds  I  caught  by  bending  my  car 
to  his  lips  puzzled  me  utterly.  That  afternoon  the 
young  ladies  from  the  Rectory  (one  of  them  read 
Goethe  with  a  dictionar}',  and  the  other  had  strug- 
gled with  Dante  for  years),  coming  to  see  Miss 
SwafFer,  tried  their  German  and  Italian  on  him 
from  the  doorwa3\  They  retreated,  just  the  least 
bit  scared  by  the  flood  of  passionate  speech  which, 
turning  on  his  pallet,  he  let  out  at  them.  They  ad- 
mitted that  the  sound  was  pleasant,  soft,  musical — 
but,  in  conjunction  with  his  looks  perhaps,  it  was 
startling — so  excitable,  so  utterly  unlike  anything 
one  had  ever  heard.  The  village  boys  climbed  up 
the  bank  to  have  a  peep  through  the  little  square 
aperture.  Everybody  was  wondering  what  Mr. 
Swaffer  would  do  with  him. 
[189] 


AMY    FOSTER 

"  He  simply  kept  him. 

"  SwafFer  would  be  called  eccentric  were  he  not 
so  much  respected.  They  will  tell  you  that  Mr. 
SwafFer  sits  up  as  late  as  ten  o'clock  at  night  to 
read  books,  and  they  will  tell  you  also  that  he  can 
write  a  cheque  for  two  hundred  pounds  without 
thinking  twice  about  it.  He  himself  would  tell 
you  that  the  Swaffers  had  owned  land  between 
this  and  Darnford  for  these  three  hundred  years. 
He  must  be  eighty-five  to-day,  but  he  does  not  look 
a  bit  older  than  when  I  first  came  here.  He  is  a 
great  breeder  of  sheep,  and  deals  extensively  in  cat- 
tle. He  attends  market  days  for  miles  around  in 
every  sort  of  weather,  and  drives  sitting  bowed  low 
over  the  reins,  his  lank  grey  hair  curling  over  the 
collar  of  his  warm  coat,  and  with  a  green  plaid  rug 
round  his  legs.  The  calmness  of  advanced  age 
gives  a  solemnity  to  his  manner.  He  is  clean- 
shaved  :  his  lips  are  thin  and  sensitive ;  something 
rigid  and  monachal  in  the  set  of  his  features  lends 
a  certain  elevation  to  the  character  of  his  face.  He 
has  been  known  to  drive  miles  in  the  rain  to  see  a 
new  kind  of  rose  in  somebody's  garden,  or  a  mon- 
strous cabbage  grown  by  a  cottager.  He  loves  to 
[  190  ] 


AMY    FOSTER 

hear  tell  of  or  to  be  shown  something  that  he  calls 
'  outlandish.'  Perhaps  it  was  just  that  outlandish- 
ness  of  the  man  which  influenced  old  SwafFer.  Per- 
haps it  was  only  an  inexplicable  caprice.  All  I 
know  is  that  at  the  end  of  three  weeks  I  caught 
sight  of  Smith's  lunatic  digging  in  Swaffer's  kitch- 
en garden.  They  had  found  out  he  could  use  a 
spade.     He  dug  barefooted. 

"  His  black  hair  flowed  over  his  shoulders.  I 
suppose  it  was  Swaff'er  who  had  given  him  the 
striped  old  cotton  shirt;  but  he  wore  still  the  na- 
tional brown  cloth  trousers  (in  which  he  had  been 
washed  ashore)  fitting  to  the  leg  almost  like 
tights ;  was  belted  with  a  broad  leathern  belt  stud- 
ded with  little  brass  discs ;  and  had  never  yet  ven- 
tured into  the  village.  The  land  he  looked  upon 
seemed  to  him  kept  neatly,  like  the  grounds  round 
a  landowner's  house ;  the  size  of  the  cart-horses 
struck  him  with  astonishment;  the  roads  resembled 
garden  walks,  and  the  aspect  of  the  people,  espe- 
cially on  Sundays,  spoke  of  opulence.  He  won- 
dered what  made  them  so  hardhearted  and  their 
children  so  bold.  He  got  his  food  at  the  back  door, 
carried  it  in  both  hands  carefull}"^  to  his  outhousci 
[191] 


AMY    FOSTER 

and,  sitting  alone  on  his  pallt-t,  would  make  the  sign 
of  the  cross  before  ho  began.  Beside  the  same  pal- 
let, kneeling  in  the  early  darkness  of  the  short  days, 
he  recited  aloud  the  Lord's  Prayer  before  he  slept. 
Whenever  he  saw  old  SwafFer  he  would  bow  with 
veneration  from  the  waist,  and  stand  erect  while 
the  old  man,  with  his  fingers  over  his  upper  lip,  sur- 
veyed him  silently.  He  bowed  also  to  Miss  SwafFer, 
who  kept  house  frugally  for  her  father — a  broad- 
shouldered,  big-boned  woman  of  forty-five,  with 
the  pocket  of  her  dress  full  of  keys,  and  a  grey, 
steady  eye.  She  was  Church — as  people  said 
(while  her  father  was  one  of  the  trustees  of  the 
Baptist  Chapel) — and  wore  a  little  steel  cross  at 
her  waist.  She  dressed  severel}^  in  black,  in  mem- 
ory of  one  of  the  innumerable  Bradleys  of  the 
neighbourhood,  to  whom  she  had  been  engaged 
some  twenty-five  years  ago — a  young  farmer  who 
broke  his  neck  out  hunting  on  the  eve  of  the  wed- 
ding day.  She  had  the  unmoved  countenance  of 
the  deaf,  spoke  very  seldom,  and  her  lips,  thin  like 
her  father's,  astonished  one  sometimes  by  a  myste- 
riously ironic  curl. 

*'  These  were  the  people  to  whom  he  owed  alle- 
[192] 


AMY    FOSTER 

glance,  and  an  overwhelming  loneliness  seemed  to 
fall  from  the  leaden  sky  of  that  winter  without  sun- 
shine. All  the  faces  were  sad.  He  could  talk  to 
no  one,  and  had  no  hope  of  ever  understanding 
anybody.  It  was  as  if  these  had  been  the  faces  of 
people  from  the  other  world — dead  people — he 
used  to  tell  mc  years  afterwards.  Upon  my  word, 
I  wonder  he  did  not  go  mad.  He  didn't  know 
where  he  was.  Somewhere  very  far  from  his  moun- 
tains— somewhere  over  the  water.  Was  this  Amer- 
ica, he  wondered.'' 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  steel  cross  at  Miss 
Swaffer's  belt  he  would  not,  he  confessed,  have 
known  whether  he  was  in  a  Christian  country  at 
all.  He  used  to  cast  stealthy  glances  at  it,  and  feel 
comforted.  There  was  nothing  here  the  same  as  in 
his  country !  The  earth  and  the  water  were  differ- 
ent; there  were  no  images  of  the  Redeemer  by  the 
roadside.  The  very  grass  was  different,  and  the 
trees.  All  the  trees  but  the  three  old  Norway  pines 
on  the  bit  of  \a.vm  before  Swaffer's  house,  and 
these  reminded  him  of  his  country.  He  had  been 
detected  once,  after  dusk,  with  his  forehead  against 
the  trunk  of  one  of  them,  sobbing,  and  talking  to 

r  193  ] 


AMY    FOSTER 

himself.  They  had  been  like  brothers  to  him  at  that 
time,  he  affirmed.  Everything  else  was  strange. 
Conceive  you  the  kind  of  an  existence  overshad- 
owed, oppressed,  by  the  everyday  material  appear- 
ances, as  if  by  the  visions  of  a  nightmare.  At 
night,  when  he  could  not  sleep,  he  kept  on  thinking 
of  the  girl  who  gave  him  the  first  piece  of  bread  he 
had  eaten  in  this  foreign  land.  She  had  been 
neither  fierce  nor  angry,  nor  frightened.  Her  face 
he  remembered  as  the  only  comprehensible  face 
amongst  all  these  faces  that  were  as  closed,  as  mj^s- 
terious,  and  as  mute  as  the  faces  of  the  dead  who 
are  possessed  of  a  knowledge  beyond  the  compre- 
hension of  the  living.  I  wonder  whether  the  mem- 
ory of  her  compassion  prevented  him  from  cutting 
his  throat.  But  there !  I  suppose  I  am  an  old  sen- 
timentalist, and  forget  the  instinctive  love  of  Hfe 
which  it  takes  all  the  strength  of  an  uncomm.on  de- 
spair to  overcome. 

"  He  did  the  work  which  was  given  him  with  an 
intelligence  which  surprised  old  SwafFer.  By-and- 
by  it  was  discovered  that  he  could  help  at  the 
ploughing,  could  milk  the  cows,  feed  the  bullocks 
in  the  cattle-yard,  and  was  of  some  use  with  the 
[194] 


AMY    FOSTER 

sheep.  He  began  to  pick  up  words,  too,  very  fast ; 
and  suddenly,  one  fine  morning  in  spring,  he  res- 
cued from  an  untimely  death  a  grand-child  of  old 
Swaffer. 

"  SwafFer's  younger  daughter  is  married  to 
Willcox,  a  solicitor  and  the  Town  Clerk  of  Cole- 
brook.  Regularly  twice  a  year  they  come  to  stay 
with  the  old  man  for  a  few  days.  Their  only  child, 
a  little  girl  not  tliree  years  old  at  the  time,  ran  out 
of  the  house  alone  in  her  Httle  white  pinafore,  and, 
toddling  across  the  grass  of  a  terraced  garden, 
pitched  herself  over  a  low  wall  head  first  into  the 
horsepond  in  the  yard  below. 

"  Our  man  was  out  with  the  waggoner  and  the 
plough  in  the  field  nearest  to  the  house,  and  as  he 
was  leading  the  team  round  to  begin  a  fresh  fur- 
row, he  saw,  through  the  gap  of  the  gate,  what  for 
anybody  else  would  have  been  a  mere  flutter  of 
something  white.  But  he  had  straight-glancing, 
quick,  far-reaching  eyes,  that  only  seemed  to  flinch 
and  lose  their  amazing  power  before  the  immensity 
of  the  sea.  He  was  barefooted,  and  looking  as  out- 
landish as  the  heart  of  Swaff^cr  could  desire.  Leav- 
ing the  horses  on  the  turn,  to  the  inexpressible  dis- 
[195] 


AMY    FOSTER 
gust  of  the  waggoner  he  bounded  off,  going  over 
the  ploughed  ground  in  long  leaps,  and  suddenly 
appeared  before  the  mother,  thi'ust  the  child  into 
her  arms,  and  strode  away. 

"  The  pond  was  not  very  deep ;  but  still,  if  he 
had  not  had  such  good  eyes,  the  child  would  have 
perished — miserably  suffocated  in  the  foot  or  so  of 
sticky  mud  at  the  bottom.  Old  Swaff'er  walked  out 
slowly  into  tlie  field,  waited  till  the  plough  came 
over  to  his  side,  had  a  good  look  at  him,  and  with- 
out saying  a  word  went  back  to  the  house.  But 
from  that  time  they  laid  out  his  meals  on  the  kitch- 
en table ;  and  at  first.  Miss  Swaffer,  all  in  black  and 
with  an  inscrutable  face,  would  come  and  stand  in 
the  doorway  of  the  living-room  to  see  him  make  a 
big  sign  of  the  cross  before  he  fell  to.  I  believe  that 
from  that  day,  too,  Swaffer  began  to  pay  him  reg- 
ular wages. 

"  I  can't  follow  step  by  step  his  development. 
He  cut  his  hair  short,  was  seen  in  the  village  and 
along  the  road  going  to  and  fro  to  his  work  like 
any  other  man.  Children  ceased  to  shout  after  him- 
He  became  aware  of  social  differences,  but  re- 
mained for  a  long  time  surprised  at  the  bare  pov- 
[  196  ] 


AMY    FOSTER 

erty  of  the  clmrches  among  so  much  wealth.  He 
couldn't  understand  either  why  they  were  kept  shut 
up  on  week  days.  There  was  nothing  to  steal  in 
them.  Was  it  to  keep  people  from  praying  too 
often.''  The  rectory  took  much  notice  of  him  about 
that  time,  and  I  believe  the  joung  ladies  attempted 
to  prepare  the  ground  for  his  conversion.  They 
could  not,  however,  break  him  of  his  habit  of  cross- 
ing himself,  but  he  went  so  far  as  to  take  off  the 
string  with  a  couple  of  brass  medals  the  size  of  a 
sixpence,  a  tiny  metal  cross,  and  a  square  sort  of 
scapulary  which  he  wore  round  his  neck.  He  hung 
them  on  the  wall  by  the  side  of  his  bed,  and  he  was 
still  to  be  heard  every  evening  reciting  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  in  incomprehensible  words  and  in  a  slow, 
fervent  tone,  as  he  had  heard  his  old  father  do  at 
the  head  of  all  the  kneeling  famil}-^,  big  and  little, 
on  every  evening  of  his  life.  And  though  he  wore 
corduroys  at  work,  and  a  slop-made  pepper-and- 
salt  suit  on  Sundays,  strangers  would  turn  round 
to  look  after  him  on  the  road.  His  foreignness  had 
a  peculiar  and  indelible  stamp.  At  last  people  be- 
came used  to  see  him.  But  they  never  became  used 
to  him.  His  rapid,  skimming  walk;  his  swarthy 
[197] 


AMY    FOSTER 

complexion ;  his  hat  cocked  on  the  left  ear ;  liis  hab- 
it, on  warm  evenings,  of  wearing  his  coat  over  one 
shoulder,  like  a  hussar's  dolman ;  his  manner  of 
leaping  over  the  stiles,  not  as  a  feat  of  agility,  but 
in  the  ordinary  course  of  progression — all  these 
peculiarities  were,  as  one  may  say,  so  many  causes 
of  scorn  and  offence  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  vil- 
lage. TheTf  wouldn't  in  their  dinner  hour  lie  flat 
on  their  backs  on  the  grass  to  stare  at  the  sky. 
Neither  did  they  go  about  the  fields  screaming  dis- 
mal tunes.  Many  times  have  I  heard  his  high- 
pitched  voice  from  behind  the  ridge  of  some  slop- 
ing sheep-walk,  a  voice  light  and  soaring,  like  a 
lark's,  but  with  a  melancholy  human  note,  over  our 
fields  that  hear  only  the  song  of  birds.  And  I 
should  be  startled  myself.  Ah !  He  was  different : 
innocent  of  heart,  and  full  of  good  will,  which  no- 
body wanted,  this  castaway,  that,  like  a  man  trans- 
planted into  another  planet,  was  separated  by  an 
immense  space  from  his  past  and  by  an  immense 
ignorance  from  his  future.  His  quick,  fervent  ut- 
terance positively  shocked  everybody.  '  An  excit- 
able devil,'  they  called  him.  One  evening,  in  the 
tap-room  of  the  Coach  and  Horses  (having  drunk 
[198] 


AMY    FOSTER 

some  whisky),  he  upset  them  all  by  singing  a  love 
song  of  his  country.  They  hooted  him  down,  and 
he  was  pained;  but  Preble,  the  lame  wheehvright, 
and  Vincent,  the  fat  blacksmith,  and  the  other  nota- 
bles too,  wanted  to  drink  their  evening  beer  in 
peace.  On  another  occasion  he  tried  to  show  them 
how  to  dance.  The  dust  rose  in  clouds  from  the 
sanded  floor;  he  leaped  straight  up  amongst  the 
deal  tables,  struck  his  heels  together,  squatted  on 
one  heel  in  front  of  old  Preble,  shooting  out  the 
other  leg,  uttered  wild  and  exulting  cries,  jumped  up 
to  whirl  on  one  foot,  snapping  his  fingers  above  his 
head — and  a  strange  carter  who  was  having  a  drink 
in  there  began  to  swear,  and  cleared  out  with  his 
half-pint  in  his  hand  into  the  bar.  But  when  sud- 
denly he  sprang  upon  a  table  and  continued  to 
dance  among  the  glasses,  the  landlord  interfered. 
He  didn't  want  any  '  accrobat  tricks  in  the  tap- 
room.' They  laid  their  hands  on  him.  Having 
had  a  glass  or  two,  Mr.  Swaffer's  foreigner  tried 
to  expostulate:  was  ejected  forcibly:  got  a  black 
eye. 

"  I  believe  he  felt  the  hostility  of  his  human  sur- 
roundings.    But  he  was  tough — tough  in  spirit, 
[199  J 


J  AMY    FOSTER 

too,  as  well  as  in  body.  Only  the  memory  of  the 
sea  frightened  him,  with  that  vague  terror  that  is 
left  by  a  bad  dream.  His  home  was  far  away ;  and 
he  did  not  want  now  to  go  to  America.  I  had  often 
explained  to  him  that  there  is  no  place  on  earth 
where  true  gold  can  be  found  lying  ready  and  to  be 
got  for  the  trouble  of  the  picking  up.  How  then, 
he  asked,  could  he  ever  return  home  with  empty 
hands  when  there  had  been  sold  a  cow,  two  ponies, 
and  a  bit  of  land  to  pay  for  his  going.''  His  eyes 
would  fill  with  tears,  and,  averting  them  from  the 
immense  shimmer  of  the  sea,  he  would  throw  him- 
self face  down  on  the  grass.  But  sometimes,  cock- 
ing his  hat  with  a  little  conquering  air,  he  would 
defy  my  wisdom.  He  had  found  his  bit  of  true 
gold.  That  was  Amy  Foster's  heart ;  which  was  '  a 
golden  heart,  and  soft  to  people's  misery,*  he 
would  say  in  the  accents  of  overwhelming  convic- 
tion. 

"  He  was  called  Yanko.  He  had  explained  that 
this  meant  little  John ;  but  as  he  would  also  repeat 
very  often  that  he  was  a  mountaineer  (some  word 
Bounding  in  the  dialect  of  his  country  like  Goorall) 
he  got  it  for  his  surname.  And  this  is  the  only 
1200^ 


AMY    FOSTER 

trace  of  him  tliat  the  succeeding  ages  may  find  in 
the  marriage  register  of  the  parisli.  There  it 
stands — Yanko  Goorall — in  the  rector's  handwrit- 
ing. The  crooked  cross  made  by  the  castaway,  a 
cross  whose  tracing  no  doubt  seemed  to  him  the 
most  solemn  part  of  the  whole  ceremony,  is  all  that 
remains  now  to  perpetuate  the  memory  of  his  name. 

"  His  courtship  had  lasted  some  time — ever  since 
he  got  his  precarious  footing  in  the  community.  It 
began  by  his  buying  for  Amy  Foster  a  green  satin 
ribbon  in  Darnford.  This  was  what  you  did  in  his 
country.  You  bought  a  ribbon  at  a  Jew's  stall  on 
a  fair-day.  I  don't  suppose  the  girl  knew  what  to 
do  with  it,  but  he  seemed  to  think  that  his  honoura- 
ble intentions  could  not  be  mistaken. 

"  It  was  only  when  he  declared  his  purpose  to 
get  married  that  I  fully  understood  how,  for  a  hun- 
dred futile  and  inappreciable  reasons,  how — shall 
I  say  odious.'' — he  was  to  all  the  countryside. 
Every  old  woman  in  the  village  was  up  in  arms. 
Smith,  coming  upon  him  near  the  farai,  promised 
to  break  his  head  for  him  if  he  found  him  about 
again.  But  he  twisted  his  little  black  moustache 
with  such  a  bellicose  air  and  rolled  such  big,  black 
[201] 


AMY    FOSTER 

fierce  eyes  at  Smith  that  this  promise  came  to  noth- 
ing. Smith,  however,  told  the  girl  that  she  must 
be  mad  to  take  up  with  a  man  who  was  surely  wrong 
in  his  head.  All  the  same,  when  she  heard  him  in 
the  gloaming  whistle  from  beyond  the  orchard  a 
couple  of  bars  of  a  weird  and  mournful  tune,  she 
would  drop  whatever  she  had  in  her  hand — she 
would  leave  Mrs.  Smith  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence 
• — and  she  would  run  out  to  his  call.  Mrs.  Smith 
called  her  a  shameless  hussy.  She  answered  noth- 
ing. She  said  nothing  at  all  to  anybody,  and  went 
on  her  way  as  if  she  had  been  deaf.  She  and  I  alone 
all  in  the  land,  I  fancy,  could  see  his  very  real 
beauty.  He  was  very  good-looking,  and  most 
graceful  in  his  bearing,  with  that  something  wild 
as  of  a  woodland  creature  in  his  aspect.  Her  moth- 
er moaned  over  her  dismally  whenever  the  girl  came 
to  see  her  on  her  day  out.  The  father  was  surly, 
but  pretended  not  to  know;  and  Mrs.  Finn  once 
told  her  plainly  that  *  this  man,  my  dear,  will  do 
you  some  harm  some  day  yet.'  And  so  it  went  on. 
They  could  be  seen  on  the  roads,  she  tramping  stol- 
idly in  her  finery — grey  dress,  black  feather,  stout 
boots,  prominent  white  cotton  gloves  that  caught 
[202] 


AMY    FOSTER 

3-our  eye  a  hundred  yards  away;  and  he,  his  coat 
slung  picturesquely  over  one  shoulder,  pacing  by 
her  side,  gallant  of  bearing  and  casting  tender 
glances  upon  the  girl  with  the  golden  heart.  I 
wonder  whether  he  saw  how  plain  she  was.  Perhaps 
among  types  so  different  from  what  he  had  ever 
seen,  he  had  not  tlie  power  to  judge;  or  perhaps 
he  was  seduced  by  the  divine  quality  of  her 
pity. 

"  Yanko  was  in  great  trouble  meantime.  In  his 
country  you  get  an  old  man  for  an  ambassador  in 
marriage  affairs.  He  did  not  know  how  to  pro- 
ceed. However,  one  day  in  the  midst  of  sheep  in  a 
field  (he  was  now  Swaffer's  under-shepherd  with 
Foster)  he  took  off  his  hat  to  the  father  and  de- 
clared himself  humbly.  '  I  daresay  she's  fool 
enough  to  marry  you,'  was  all  Foster  said.  '  And 
then,'  heuscd  to  relate, '  he  puts  his  hat  on  his  head, 
looks  black  at  me  as  if  he  wanted  to  cut  my  throat, 
whistles  the  dog,  and  off  he  goes,  leaving  me  to  do 
the  work.'  The  Fosters,  of  course,  didn't  like  to 
lose  the  wages  the  girl  earned :  Amy  used  to  give  all 
her  money  to  her  mother.  But  there  was  in  Foster 
a  very  genuine  aversion  to  that  match.  He  con- 
[203] 


AMY    FOSTER 

tended  that  the  fellow  was  very  good  with  sheep, 
but  was  not  fit  for  any  girl  to  marry.  For  one 
thing,  he  used  to  go  along  the  hedges  muttering  to 
himself  like  a  dam'  fool;  and  then,  these  foreign- 
ers behave  very  queerly  to  women  sometimes.  And 
perhaps  he  would  want  to  carry  her  off  somewhere 
— or  run  off  himself.  It  was  not  safe.  He 
preached  it  to  his  daughter  that  the  fellow  might 
ill-use  her  in  some  way.  She  made  no  answer.  It 
was,  they  said  in  the  village,  as  if  the  man  had  done 
something  to  her.  People  discussed  the  matter.  It 
was  quite  an  excitement,  and  the  two  went  on 
*  walking  out '  together  in  the  face  of  opposition. 
Then  something  unexpected  happened. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  old  Swaffer  ever  under- 
stood how  much  he  was  regarded  in  the  light  of  a 
father  by  his  foreign  retainer.  Anyway  the  rela- 
tion was  curiously  feudal.  So  when  Yanko  asked 
formally  for  an  interview — '  and  the  Miss  too  '  (he 
called  the  severe,  deaf  Miss  Swaffer  simply  Miss) 
— it  was  to  obtain  their  permission  to  marry. 
Swaffer  heard  him  unmoved,  dismissed  him  by  a 
nod,  and  then  shouted  the  intelligence  into  Miss 
Swaffer's  best  ear.  She  showed  no  surprise,  and 
[204] 


AMY    FOSTER 

only  remarked  grimly,  in  a  veiled  blank  voice,  *  He 
certainly  won't  get  any  other  girl  to  marry  him.* 

"  It  is  Miss  Swaffer  who  has  all  the  credit  of  the 
munificence:  but  in  a  very  few  days  it  came  out 
that  Mr.  Swaffer  had  presented  Yanko  with  a  cot- 
tage (the  cottage  you've  seen  this  morning)  and 
something  like  an  acre  of  ground — had  made  it 
over  to  him  in  absolute  property.  Willcox  expe- 
dited the  deed,  and  I  remember  him  telling  me  he 
had  a  great  pleasure  in  making  it  ready.  It  re- 
cited :  '  In  consideration  of  saving  the  life  of  my 
beloved  grandchild,  Bertha  Willcox.' 

"  Of  course,  after  that  no  power  on  earth  could 
prevent  them  from  getting  married. 

"  Her  infatuation  endured.  People  saw  her  go- 
ing out  to  meet  him  in  the  evening.  She  stared 
with  unblinking,  fascinated  eyes  up  the  road  where 
he  was  .expected  to  appear,  walking  freeljs  with  a 
swing  from  the  hip,  and  humming  one  of  the  love- 
tunes  of  his  country.  When  the  boy  was  born,  he 
got  elevated  at  the  '  Coach  and  Horses,'  essayed 
again  a  song  and  a  dance,  and  was  again  ejected. 
People  expressed  their  commiseration  for  a  woman 
married  to  that  Jack-in-the-box.  He  didn't  care. 
[205] 


AMY    FOSTER 

There  was  a  man  now  (he  told  me  boastfully)  to 
whom  he  could  sing  and  talk  in  the  language  of  his 
country,  and  show  how  to  dance  by-and-by. 

"  But  I  don't  know.  To  me  he  appeared  to  have 
grown  less  springy  of  step,  heavier  in  body,  less 
keen  of  eye.  Imagination,  no  doubt;  but  it  seems 
to  me  now  as  if  the  net  of  fate  had  been  drawn 
closer  round  him  already. 

"  One  day  I  met  him  on  the  footpath  over  the 
Talfourd  Hill.  He  told  me  that  '  women  were  fun- 
n3\'  I  had  heard  already  of  domestic  differences. 
People  were  saying  that  Amy  Foster  was  begin- 
ning to  find  out  what  sort  of  man  she  had  married. 
He  looked  upon  the  sea  with  indifferent,  unseeing 
eyes.  His  wife  had  snatched  the  child  out  of  his 
arms  one  day  as  he  sat  on  the  doorstep  crooning  to 
it  a  song  such  as  the  mothers  sing  to  babies  in  his 
mountains.  She  seemed  to  think  he  was  doing  it 
some  harm.  Women  are  funny.  And  she  had  ob- 
jected to  him  praying  aloud  in  the  evening.  Why  ? 
He  expected  the  boy  to  repeat  the  prayer  aloud 
after  him  by-and-by,  as  he  used  to  do  after  his  old 
father  when  he  was  a  child — In  his  own  country. 
And  I  discovered  he  longed  for  their  boy  to  grow 
[206] 


AMY    FOSTER 

up  so  that  he  could  have  a  man  to  talk  with  In  that 
language  that  to  our  ears  sounded  so  disturbing, 
so  passionate,  and  so  bizarre.  Why  his  wife 
should  dislike  the  idea  he  couldn't  tell.  But  that 
would  pass,  he  said.  And  tilting  his  head  know- 
ingly, he  tapped  his  breastbone  to  indicate  that  she 
had  a  good  heart :  not  hard,  not  fierce,  open  to  com- 
passion, charitable  to  the  poor ! 

"  I  walked  away  thoughtfully ;  I  wondered 
y  whether  his  difference,  his  strangeness,  were  not 
penetrating  with  repulsion  that  dull  nature  they 
had  begun  by  irresistibly  attracting.  I  won- 
dered.  .   .   ." 

Tlie  Doctor  came  to  the  window  and  looked  out 
at  the  frigid  splendour  of  the  sea,  immense  in 
the  haze,  as  if  enclosing  all  the  earth  with  all 
the  hearts  lost  among  the  passions  of  love  and 
fear. 

"  Physiologically,  now,"  he  said,  turning  away 
abruptly,  "  it  was  possible.     It  was  possible." 

He  remained  silent.    Then  went  on — 

"  At  all  events,  the  next  time  I  saw  him  he  was 
ill — lung  trouble.  He  was  tough,  but  I  daresay  he 
was  not  acclimatised  as  well  as  I  had  supposed.  It 
[207] 


AMY    FOSTER 

was  a  bad  winter ;  and,  of  course,  these  mountain- 
eers do  get  fits  of  home  sickness ;  and  a  state  of  de- 
pression would  make  him  vulnerable.  He  was  lying 
half  dressed  on  a  couch  downstairs. 

"  A  table  covered  with  a  dark  oilcloth  took  up  all 
the  middle  of  the  little  room.  There  was  a  wicker 
cradle  on  the  floor,  a  kettle  spouting  steam  on  the 
hob,  and  some  child's  linen  lay  dr3'ing  on  the 
fender.  The  room  was  warm,  but  the  door  opens 
right  into  the  garden,  as  you  noticed  perhaps. 

"  He  was  very  feverish,  and  kept  on  muttering 
to  himself.  She  sat  on  a  chair  and  looked  at  him 
fixedly  across  the  table  with  her  brown,  blurred 
eyes.  'Why  don't  j-ou  have  him  upstairs?'  I 
asked.  With  a  start  and  a  confused  stammer  she 
said,  '  Oh !  ah !  I  couldn't  sit  with  him  upstairs, 
Sir.' 

"  I  gave  her  certain  directions ;  and  going  out- 
side, I  said  again  that  he  ought  to  be  in  bed  up- 
stairs. She  wrung  her  hands.  '  I  couldn't.  I 
couldn't.  He  keeps  on  saying  something — I  don't 
know  what.'  With  the  memory  of  all  the  talk 
against  the  man  that  had  been  dinned  into  her  ears, 
I  looked  at  her  narrowly.  I  looked  into  her  short- 
[208] 


AMY    FOSTER 

sighted  eyes,  at  her  dumb  eyes  that  once  in  her  life 
had  seen  an  enticing  shape,  but  seemed,  staring  at 
me,  to  see  nothing  at  all  now.  But  I  saw  she  was 
uneasy. 

"  '  What's  the  matter  with  him  ?  '  she  asked  in  a 
sort  of  vacant  trepidation.  '  He  doesn't  look  very 
ill,  I  never  did  see  anybody  look  like  this  be- 
fore.  .   .  .' 

"  '  Do  you  think,'  I  asked  indignantly,  '  he  is 
shamming?  ' 

"  '  I  can't  help  it,  sir,'  she  said  stolidly.  xVnd 
suddenly  she  clapped  her  hands  and  looked  right 
and  left.  '  And  there's  the  baby.  I  am  so  fright- 
ened. He  wanted  me  just  now  to  give  him  the 
baby.     I  can't  understand  what  he  says  to  it.' 

"  '  Can't  you  ask  a  neighbour  to  come  in  to- 
night.'' '  I  asked. 

"  *  Please,  sir,  nobody  seems  to  care  to  come,'  she 
muttered,  dully  resigned  all  at  once. 

"  I  impressed  upon  her  the  necessity  of  the 
greatest  care,  and  then  had  to  go.  There  was  a 
good  deal  of  sickness  that  winter.  '  Oh,  I  hope  he 
won't  talk ! '  she  exclaimed  softly  just  as  I  was  go- 
ing away. 

[209] 


AMY    FOSTER 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is  I  did  not  see — but  I 
didn't.  And  yet,  turning  in  my  trap,  I  saw  her 
lingering  before  the  door,  very  still,  and  as  if  med- 
itating a  flight  up  the  miry  road. 

"  Towards  the  night  his  fever  increased. 

"  He  tossed,  moaned,  and  now  and  then  muttered 
a  complaint.  And  she  sat  with  the  table  between 
her  and  the  couch,  watching  ev^ry  movement  and 
every  sound,  with  the  terror,  the  unreasonable  ter- 
ror, of  that  man  she  could  not  understand  creeping 
over  her.  She  had  drawn  the  wicker  cradle  close 
to  her  feet.  There  was  nothing  in  her  now  but  tliie 
maternal  instinct  and  that  unaccountable  fear. 

"  Suddenly  coming  to  himself,  parched,  he  de- 
manded a  drink  of  water.  She  did  not  move.  She 
had  not  understood,  though  he  may  have  thought 
he  was  speaking  in  English.  He  waited,  looking  at 
her,  burning  with  fever,  amazed  at  her  silence  and 
immobility,  and  then  he  shouted  impatientl}'^, 
'  Water !     Give  me  water ! ' 

"  She  jumped  to  her  feet,  snatched  up  the  child, 
and  stood  still.  He  spoke  to  her,  and  his  passion- 
ate remonstrances  only  increased  her  fear  of  that 
strange  man.  I  believe  he  spoke  to  her  for  a  long 
[210] 


AMY    FOSTER 

time,  entreating,  wondering,  pleading,  ordering,  I 
suppose.  She  says  she  bore  it  as  long  as  she  could. 
And  then  a  gust  of  rage  came  over  him. 

"  He  sat  up  and  called  out  terribly  one  word — 
some  word.  Then  he  got  up  as  though  he  hadn't 
been  ill  at  all,  she  says.  And  as  in  fevered  dismay, 
indignation,  and  wonder  he  tried  to  get  to  her 
round  the  table,  she  simply  opened  the  door  and  ran 
out  with  the  child  in  her  arms.  She  heard  him  call 
twice  after  her  down  the  road  in  a  terrible  voice — 
and  fled.  .  .  .  Ah!  but  you  should  have  seen  stir- 
ring behind  the  dull,  blurred  glance  of  these  eyes 
the  spectre  of  the  fear  which  had  hunted  her  on 
that  night  three  miles  and  a  half  to  the  door  of  Fos- 
ter's cottage !    I  did  the  next  day. 

"  And  it  was  I  who  found  him  lying  face  down 
and  his  body  in  a  puddle,  just  outside  the  little 
wicket-gate. 

"  I  had  been  called  out  that  night  to  an  urgent 
case  in  the  village,  and  on  my  way  home  at  day- 
break passed  by  the  cottage.  The  door  stood  open. 
My  man  helped  me  to  carry  him  in.  We  laid  him 
on  the  couch.  The  lamp  smoked,  the  fire  was  out, 
the  chill  of  the  stormy  night  oozed  from  the  cheer- 
[211] 


AMY  FOSTER 
less  yellow  paper  on  the  wall.  '  Amj' ! '  I  called 
aloud,  and  my  voice  seemed  to  lose  itself  in  the 
emptiness  of  this  tiny  house  as  if  I  had  cried  in  at 
desert.  He  opened  his  eyes.  *  Gone !  *  he  said  dis- 
tinctly. '  I  had  only  asked  for  water — only  for  a 
little  water.  .  .  .' 

"  He  was  muddy.  I  covered  him  up  and  stood 
waiting  in  silence,  catching  a  painfully  gasped 
word  now  and  then.  They  were  no  longer  in  his 
own  language.  The  fever  had  left  him,  taking 
with  it  the  heat  of  life.  And  with  his  panting 
breast  and  lustrous  eyes  he  reminded  me  again  of  a 
wild  creature  under  the  net ;  of  a  bird  caught  in  a 
snare.  She  had  left  him.  She  had  left  him — sick 
— helpless — thirsty.  The  spear  of  the  hunter  had 
entered  his  very  soul.  '  Why .'' '  he  cried  in  the  pen- 
etrating and  indignant  voice  of  a  man  calling  to  a 
responsible  Maker.  A  gust  of  wind  and  a  swish  of 
rain  answered. 

"  And  as  I  turned  away  to  shut  the  door  he  pro- 
nounced the  word  '  Merciful ! '  and  expired. 

"  Eventually  I  certified  heart-failure  as  the  im- 
mediate cause  of  death.     His  heart  must  have  in- 
deed failed  him,  or  else  he  might  have  stood  this 
[212] 


AMY    FOSTER 

night  of  storm  and  exi>osure,  too.  I  closed  his  eyes 
and  drove  away.  Not  very  far  from  the  cottage  I 
met  Foster  walking  sturdily  between  the  dripping 
hedges  with  his  collie  at  his  heels. 

"  '  Do  you  know  where  your  daughter  is  ? '  I 
asked. 

"  '  Don't  I ! '  he  cried.  '  I  am  going  to  talk  to 
him  a  bit.    Frightening  a  poor  woman  Hke  this.' 

" '  He  won't  frighten  her  any  more,'  I  said. 
*  He  is  dead.' 

"  He  struck  with  his  stick  at  the  mud. 

"  *  And  there's  the  child.' 

"  Then,  after  thinking  deeply  for  a  while — 

"  *  I  don't  know  that  it  isn't  for  the  best.' 

"  That's  what  he  said.  And  she  says  nothing  at 
all  now.  Not  a  word  of  him.  Never.  Is  his  im- 
age as  utterl}'^  gone  from  her  mind  as  his  lithe  and 
striding  figure,  his  carolling  voice  are  gone  from 
our  fields?  He  is  no  longer  before  her  eyes  to  ex- 
cite her  imagination  into  a  passion  of  love  or  fear ; 
and  his  memory  seems  to  have  vanished  from  her 
dull  brain  as  a  shadow  passes  away  upon  a  white 
screen.  She  lives  in  the  cottage  and  works  for  Miss 
Swaffer.  She  is  Amy  Foster  for  everybody,  and 
[213] 


AMY    FOSTER 

the  child  is  '  Amy  Foster's  boy.'     She  calls  him 
Johnny — which  means  Little  John. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  say  whether  this  name  re- 
calls an^'thing  to  her.  Does  she  ever  think  of  the 
past.?  I  have  seen  her  hanging  over  the  boy's  cot 
in  a  very  passion  of  maternal  tenderness.  The  lit- 
tle fellow  was  lying  on  his  back,  a  little  frightened 
at  me,  but  very  still,  with  his  big  black  eyes,  with 
his  fluttered  air  of  a  bird  in  a  snare.  And  looking 
at  him  I  seemed  to  see  again  the  other  one — the 
father,  cast  out  m3'steriously  by  the  sea  to  perish 
In  the  supreme  disaster  of  loneliness  and  despair." 


[214] 


TO-MORROW 


TO-MORROW 

What  was  known  of  Captain  Hagberd  in  the  little 
seaport  of  Colebrook  was  not  exactly  in  his  favour. 
He  did  not  belong  to  the  place.  He  had  come  to 
settle  there  under  circumstances  not  at  all  myste- 
rious— he  used  to  be  very  communicative  about 
them  at  the  time — but  extremely  morbid  and  un- 
reasonable. He  was  possessed  of  some  little  money 
evidently,  because  he  bought  a  plot  of  ground,  and 
had  a  pair  of  ugly  yellow  brick  cottages  run  up 
very  cheaply.  He  occupied  one  of  them  himself 
and  let  the  other  to  Josiah  Carvil — blind  Carvil, 
the  retired  boat-builder — a  man  of  evil  repute  as  a 
domestic  tyrant. 

These  cottages  had  one  wall  in  common,  shared 
in  a  line  of  iron  railing  dividing  their  front  gar- 
dens ;  a  wooden  fence  separated  their  back  gardens. 
Miss  Bessie  Carvil  was  allowed,  as  it  were  of  right, 
to  throw  over  it  the  tea-cloths,  blue  rags,  or  an 
apron  that  wanted  drying. 
I  217  1 


to-:morrow 

"  It  rots  the  wood,  Bessie  my  girl,"  the  captain 
would  remark  mildly,  from  his  side  of  the  fence, 
each  time  he  saw  her  exercising  that  privilege. 

She  was  a  tall  girl;  the  fence  was  low,  and 
she  could  spread  her  elbows  on  the  top.  Her  hands 
would  be  red  with  the  bit  of  washing  she  had  done, 
but  her  forearms  were  white  and  shapely,  and  she 
would  look  at  her  father's  landlord  in  silence — in 
an  informed  silence  which  had  an  air  of  knowledge, 
expectation  and  desire. 

"  It  rots  the  wood,"  repeated  Captain  Hagberd. 
"  It  is  the  only  unthrifty,  careless  habit  I  know  in 
you.  Why  don't  you  have  a  clothes  line  out  in  your 
back  yard  ?  " 

Miss  Carvil  would  say  nothing  to  this — she  only 
shook  her  head  negatively.  The  tiny  back  yard 
on  her  side  had  a  few  stone-bordered  little  beds  of 
black  earth,  in  which  the  simple  flowers  she  found 
time  to  cultivate  appeared  somehow  extravagantly 
overgrown,  as  if  belonging  to  an  exotic  clime ;  and 
Captain  Hagberd's  upright,  hale  person,  clad  in 
No.  1  sail-cloth  from  head  to  foot,  would  be  emer- 
ging knee-deep  out  of  rank  grass  and  the  tall  weeds 
on  his  side  of  the  fence.  He  appeared,  with  the  col- 
[218] 


T  O  -  ]M  O  R  R  O  W 

our  and  uncouth  stiffness  of  the  extraordinary  ma- 
terial in  Avhich  he  chose  to  clothe  himself — "  for  the 
time  being,"  would  be  his  mumbled  remark  to  any 
observation  on  the  subject — like  a  man  roughened 
out  of  granite,  standing  in  a  wilderness  not  big 
enough  for  a  decent  billiard-room.  A  heavy  figure 
of  a  man  of  stone,  with  a  red  handsome  face,  a  blue 
wandering  eye,  and  a  great  white  beard  flowing 
to  his  waist  and  never  trimmed  as  far  as  Colebrook 
knew. 

Seven  years  before,  he  had  seriously  answered, 
"  Next  month,  I  think,"  to  the  chafRng  attempt  to 
secure  his  custom  made  by  that  distinguished  local 
wit,  the  Colebrook  barber,  who  happened  to  be  sit- 
ting insolently  in  the  tap-room  of  the  New  Inn  near 
the  harbour,  where  the  captain  had  entered  to  buy 
an  ounce  of  tobacco.  After  paying  for  his  pur- 
chase with  three  half -pence  extracted  from  the  cor- 
ner of  a  handkerchief  which  he  carried  in  the  cuff 
of  his  sleeve.  Captain  Hagberd  went  out.  As  soon 
as  the  door  was  shut  the  barber  laughed.  "  The 
old  one  and  the  young  one  will  be  strolling  arm  in 
arm  to  get  shaved  in  my  place  presently.  The 
tailor  shall  be  set  to  work,  and  the  barber,  and  the 
[219] 


TO- MORROW 

candlestick  maker;  high  old  times  are  coming  for 
Colebrook,  they  are  coming,  to  be  sure.  It  used  to 
be  *  next  week,'  now  it  has  come  to  '  next  month,' 
and  so  on — soon  it  will  be  next  spring,  for  all  I 
know." 

Noticing  a  stranger  listening  to  him  with  a  va- 
cant grin,  he  explained,  stretching  out  his  legs  cyn- 
ically, that  this  queer  old  Hagberd,  a  retired  coast- 
ing-skipper, was  waiting  for  the  "eturn  of  a  son  of 
his.  The  boy  had  been  driven  away  from  home,  he 
shouldn't  wonder;  had  run  away  to  sea  and  had 
never  been  heard  of  since.  Put  to  rest  in  Davy 
Jones's  locker  this  man}'  a  da}',  as  likely  as  not. 
That  old  man  came  flying  to  Colebrook  three 
years  ago  all  in  black  broadcloth  (had  lost  his  wife 
lately  then),  getting  out  of  a  third-class  smoker 
as  if  the  devil  had  been  at  his  heels ;  and  the  only 
thing  that  brought  him  down  was  a  letter — a  hoax 
probably.  Some  joker  had  written  to  him  about  a 
seafaring  man  with  some  such  name  who  was  sup- 
posed to  be  hanging  about  some  girl  or  other,  either 
in  Colebrook  or  in  the  neighbourhood.  "  Funny, 
ain't  it  ?  "  The  old  chap  had  been  advertising  in 
the  London  papers  for  Harry  Hagberd,  and  offer- 
[  220  ] 


TO-MORROW 

ing  rewards  for  any  sort  of  likely  information. 
And  the  barber  would  go  on  to  describe  with  sar- 
donic gusto,  how  that  stranger  in  mourning  had 
been  seen  exploring  the  country,  in  carts,  on  foot, 
taking  ever^^body  into  his  confidence,  visiting  all 
the  inns  and  alehouses  for  miles  around,  stopping 
people  on  the  road  with  his  questions,  looking  into 
the  very  ditches  almost ;  first  in  the  greatest  excite- 
ment, then  with  a  plodding  sort  of  perseverance, 
growing  slower  and  slower;  and  he  could  not  even 
tell  you  plainly  how  his  son  looked.  The  sailor 
was  supposed  to  be  one  of  two  that  had  left  a  tim- 
ber ship,  and  to  have  been  seen  dangling  after  some 
girl ;  but  the  old  man  described  a  boy  of  fourteen 
or  so — "  a  clever-looking,  high-spirited  boy."  And 
when  people  only  smiled  at  this  he  would  rub  his 
forehead  in  a  confused  sort  of  way  before  he  slunk 
oif,  looking  offended.  He  found  nobody,  of 
course;  not  a  trace  of  anybody — never  heard  of 
anything  worth  belief,  at  any  rate;  but  he  had  not 
been  able  somehow  to  tear  himself  away  from  Cole- 
brook. 

"  It  was  the  shock  of  tliis  disappointment,  per- 
haps, coming  soon  after  the  loss  of  his  wife,  that 
[221  1 


TO-MORROW 

had  driven  him  crazy  on  that  point,"  the  barber 
suggested,  with  an  air  of  great  psychological  in- 
sight. After  a  time  the  old  man  abandoned  the  ac- 
tive search.  His  son  had  evidently  gone  away ; 
but  he  settled  himself  to  wait.  His  son  had  been 
once  at  least  in  Colebrook  in  preference  to  his  na- 
tive place.  There  must  have  been  some  reason  for 
it,  he  seemed  to  think,  some  very  powerful  induce- 
ment, that  would  bring  him  back  to  Colebrook 
again. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Why,  of  course,  Colebrook. 
Where  else?  That's  the  only  place  in  the  United 
Kingdom  for  your  long-lost  sons.  So  he  sold  up 
his  old  home  in  Colchester,  and  down  he  comes  here. 
Well,  it's  a  craze,  like  any  other.  Wouldn't  catch 
me  going  crazy  over  any  of  my  youngsters  clear- 
ing out.  I've  got  eight  of  them  at  home."  The 
barber  was  showing  off  his  strength  of  mind  in  the 
midst  of  a  laughter  that  shook  the  tap-room. 

Strange,  though,  that  sort  of  thing,  he  would 
confess,  with  the  frankness  of  a  superior  intelli- 
gence, seemed  to  be  catching.  His  establishment, 
for  instance,  was  near  the  harbour,  and  whenever  a 
sailorman  came  in  for  a  hair-cut  or  a  shave — if  it 
[222] 


TO-MORROW 

was  a  strange  face  he  couldn't  help  thinking  di- 
rectly, "  Suppose  he's  the  son  of  old  Hagberd ! " 
He  laughed  at  himself  for  it.  It  was  a  strong 
craze.  He  could  remember  the  time  when  the  whole 
town  was  full  of  it.  But  he  had  his  hopes  of  the 
old  chap  yet.  He  would  cure  him  by  a  course  of 
judicious  chaffing.  He  was  watching  the  progress 
of  the  treatment.  Next  week — next  month — next 
year !  When  the  old  skipper  had  put  off  the  date 
of  that  return  till  next  year,  he  would  be  well  on 
his  way  to  not  saying  any  more  about  it.  In  other 
matters  he  was  quite  rational,  so  this,  too,  was 
bound  to  come.  Such  was  the  barber's  firm  opin- 
ion. 

Nobody  had  ever  contradicted  him ;  his  own  hair 
had  gone  grey  since  that  time,  and  Captain  Hag- 
berd's  beard  had  turned  quite  white,  and  had  ac- 
quired a  majestic  flow  over  the  No.  1  canvas  suit, 
which  he  had  made  for  himself  secretly  with  tarred 
twine,  and  had  assumed  suddenly,  coming  out  in 
it  one  fine  morning,  whereas  the  evening  before  he 
had  been  seen  going  home  in  his  mourning  of 
broadcloth.  It  caused  a  sensation  in  the  High 
Street — shopkeepers  coming  to  their  doors,  people 
[223] 


TO-MORROW 

in  the  houses  snatching  up  their  hats  to  run  out — 
a  stir  at  which  he  seemed  strangely  surprised  at 
first,  and  then  scared;  but  his  only  answer  to  the 
wondering  questions  was  that  startled  and  evasive, 
"  For  the  present." 

That  sensation  had  been  forgotten,  long  ago; 
and  Captain  Hagberd  himself,  if  not  forgotten, 
had  come  to  be  disregarded — the  penalty  of  daili- 
ness — as  the  sun  itself  is  disregarded  unless  it 
makes  its  power  felt  heavily.  Captain  Hagberd's 
movements  showed  no  infirmity:  he  walked  stiffly 
in  his  suit  of  canvas,  a  quaint  and  remarkable  fig- 
ure ;  only  his  eyes  wandered  more  f urtivel}'^  perhaps 
than  of  yore.  His  manner  abroad  had  lost  its  ex- 
citable watchfulness ;  it  had  become  puzzled  and 
diffident,  as  though  he  had  suspected  that  there 
was  somewhere  about  him  something  slightly  com- 
promising, some  embarrassing  oddity ;  and  yet  had 
remained  unable  to  discover  what  on  earth  this 
something  wrong  could  be. 

He  was  unwilling  now  to  talk  with  the  townsfolk. 

He  had  earned   for  himself  the  reputation  of  an 

awful  skinflint,  of  a  miser  in  the  matter  of  living. 

He  mumbled  regretfully  in  the  shops,  bought  in- 

[224] 


TO-MORROW 

ferior  scraps  of  meat  after  long  hesitations ;  and 
discouraged  all  allusions  to  his  costume.  It  was 
as  the  barber  had  foretold.  For  all  one  could  tell, 
he  had  recovered  already  from  the  disease  of  hope ; 
and  only  IVIiss  Bessie  Carvil  knew  that  he  said  noth- 
ing about  his  son's  return  because  with  him  it  was 
no  longer  "  next  week,"  "  next  month,"  or  even 
"  next  year."     It  was  "  to-morrow." 

In  their  intimacy  of  back  yard  and  front  gar- 
den he  talked  with  her  paternally,  reasonably,  and 
dogmatically,  with  a  touch  of  arbitrariness.  They 
met  on  the  ground  of  unreserved  confidence,  which 
was  authenticated  by  an  affectionate  wink  now  and 
then.  Miss  Carvil  had  come  to  look  forward  rather 
to  these  winks.  At  first  they  had  discomposed  her: 
the  poor  fellow  was  mad.  Afterwards  she  had 
learned  to  laugh  at  them:  there  was  no  harm  in 
him.  Now  she  was  aware  of  an  unacknowledged, 
pleasurable,  incredulous  emotion,  expressed  by  a 
faint  blush.  He  winked  not  in  the  least  vulgarly ; 
his  thin  red  face  with  a  well-modelled  curved  nose, 
had  a  sort  of  distinction — the  more  so  that  when  he 
talked  to  her  he  looked  with  a  steadier  and  more  in- 
telligent glance.  A  handsome,  hale,  upright,  ca- 
[225] 


TO-MORROW 

pable  man,  with  a  white  beard.  You  did  not  think 
of  his  age.  His  son,  he  affirmed,  had  resembled 
him  amazingly  from  his  earliest  babyhood. 

Harry  would  be  one-and-thirty  next  July,  he 
declared.  Proper  age  to  get  married  with  a  nice, 
sensible  girl  that  could  appreciate  a  good  home. 
He  was  a  very  high-spirited  boy.  High-spirited 
husbands  were  the  easiest  to  manage.  These  mean, 
soft  chaps,  that  you  would  think  butter  wouldn't 
melt  in  their  mouths,  were  the  ones  to  make  a  wom- 
an thoroughly  miserable.  And  there  was  nothing 
like  a  home — a  fireside — a  good  roof:  no  turning 
out  of  your  warm  bed  in  all  sorts  of  weather.  "  Eh, 
my  dear?  " 

Captain  Hagberd  had  been  one  of  those  sailors 
that  pursue  their  calhng  within  sight  of  land.  One 
of  the  many  children  of  a  bankrupt  farmer,  he  had 
been  apprenticed  hurriedly  to  a  coasting  skipper, 
and  had  remained  on  the  coast  all  his  sea  life.  It 
must  have  been  a  hard  one  at  first:  he  had  never 
taken  to  it;  his  affection  turned  to  the  land,  with 
its  innumerable  houses,  with  its  quiet  lives  gathered 
round  its  firesides.  Many  sailors  feel  and  profess 
a  rational  dislike  for  the  sea,  but  his  was  a  pro- 
[226] 


T  O  -  IM  O  R  K  O  W 

found  and  emotional  animosity — as  if  the  love  of 
the  stabler  element  had  been  bred  into  him  through 
many  generations. 

"  People  did  not  know  what  they  let  their  boys  in 
for  when  they  let  them  go  to  sea,"  he  expounded  to 
Bessie.  "  As  soon  make  convicts  of  them  at  once." 
He  did  not  believe  you  ever  got  used  to  it.  The 
weariness  of  such  a  life  got  worse  as  you  got  older. 
What  sort  of  trade  was  it  in  which  more  than  half 
your  time  you  did  not  jjut  your  foot  inside  your 
house.''  Directly  you  got  out  to  sea  you  had  no 
means  of  knowing  what  went  on  at  home.  One 
might  have  thought  him  weary  of  distant  voyages ; 
and  the  longest  he  had  ever  made  had  lasted  a  fort- 
night, of  which  the  most  part  had  been  sjjent  at 
anchor,  sheltering  from  the  weather.  As  soon  as 
his  wife  had  inherited  a  house  and  enough  to  live  on 
(from  a  bachelor  uncle  who  had  made  some  money 
in  the  coal  business)  he  threw  up  his  command  of 
an  East-coast  collier  with  a  feeling  as  though  he 
had  escaped  from  the  galleys.  After  all  these  years 
he  might  have  counted  on  the  fingers  of  his  two 
hands  all  the  days  he  had  been  out  of  sight  of  Eng- 
land. He  had  never  known  what  it  was  to  be  o\^ 
[227] 


TO-MORROW 

of  soundings.  "  I  have  never  been  further  than 
eighty  fathoms  from  the  land,"  was  one  of  his 
boasts. 

Bessie  Carvil  heard  all  these  things.  In  front  of 
their  cottage  grew  an  under-sized  ash ;  and  on  sum- 
mer afternoons  she  would  bring  out  a  chair  on  the 
grass-plot  and  sit  down  with  her  sewing.  Captain 
Hagberd,  in  his  canvas  suit,  leaned  on  a  spade.  He 
dug  every  day  in  his  front  plot.  He  turned  it  over 
and  over  several  times  every  year,  but  was  not  go- 
ing to  plant  anything  "  just  at  present." 

To  Bessie  Carvil  he  would  state  more  explicitly : 
"  Not  till  our  Harry  comes  home  to-morrow."  And 
she  had  heard  this  formula  of  hope  so  often  that  it 
only  awakened  the  vaguest  pity  in  her  heart  for 
that  hopeful  old  man. 

Everything  was  put  off  in  that  way,  and  every- 
thing was  being  prepared  likewise  for  to-morrow. 
There  was  a  boxful  of  packets  of  various  flower- 
;eeds  to  choose  from,  for  the  front  garden.  *'  He 
will  doubtless  let  j-ou  have  your  say  about  that,  my 
dear,"  Captain  Hagberd  intimated  to  her  across 
the  railing. 

[228] 


TO-MORROW 

Miss  Bessie's  head  remained  bowed  over  her 
work.  She  had  heard  all  this  so  many  times.  But 
now  and  then  she  would  rise,  lay  down  her  sewing, 
and  come  slowly  to  the  fence.  There  was  a  charm 
in  these  gentle  ravings.  He  was  determined  that 
his  son  should  not  go  away  again  for  the  want  of  a 
home  all  ready  for  him.  He  had  been  filling  the 
other  cottage  with  all  sorts  of  furniture.  She  im- 
agined it  all  new,  fresh  with  varnish,  piled  up  as 
in  a  warehouse.  There  would  be  tables  wrapped 
up  in  sacking;  rolls  of  carpets  thick  and  vertical 
like  fragments  of  columns,  the  gleam  of  white  mar- 
ble tops  in  the  dimness  of  the  drawn  blinds.  Cap- 
tain Hagberd  always  described  liis  purchases  to 
her,  carefullj',  as  to  a  person  having  a  legitimate 
interest  in  them.  The  overgrown  yard  of  his  cot- 
tage could  be  laid  over  with  concrete  .  .  .  after 
to-moiTow. 

"  We  may  just  as  well  do  away  with  the  fence. 
You  could  have  your  drying-line  out,  quite  clear  of 
your  flowers."  He  winked,  and  she  would  blusli 
faintly. 

This  madness  that  had  entered  her  life  through 
the  kind  impulses  of  her  heart  had  reasonable  de- 
[229] 


TO-MORROW 

tails.  \Vliat  if  some  day  his  son  returned?  But 
she  could  not  even  be  quite  sure  that  he  ever  had  a 
son;  and  if  he  existed  anywhere  he  had  been  too 
long  away.  When  Captain  Hagberd  got  excited 
in  his  talk  she  would  steady  him  by  a  pretence  of 
belief,  laughing  a  little  to  salve  her  conscience. 

Only  once  she  had  tried  pityingly  to  throw  some 
doubt  on  that  hope  doomed  to  disappointment,  but 
the  effect  of  her  attempt  had  scared  her  verj'  much. 
All  at  once  over  that  man's  face  there  came  an  ex- 
pression of  horror  and  incredulity,  as  though  he 
had  seen  a  crack  open  out  in  the  firmament. 

"  You — ^^'ou — you  don't  think  he's  drowned !  " 

For  a  moment  he  seenicd  to  her  ready  to  go  out 
of  his  mind,  for  in  his  ordinary  state  she  thought 
him  more  sane  than  people  gave  him  credit  for. 
On  that  occasion  the  violence  of  the  emotion  was 
followed  by  a  most  paternal  and  complacent  re- 
covery. 

"  Don't  alarm  yourself,  my  dear,"  he  said  a  lit- 
tle cunningl}' :  "  the  sea  can't  keep  him.  He  does 
not  belong  to  it.  None  of  us  Hagberds  ever  did 
belong  to  it.  Look  at  me;  I  didn't  get  drowned. 
Moreover,  he  isn't  a  sailor  at  all ;  and  if  he  is  not  a 
[230] 


TO-MORROW 

sailor  he's  bound  to  come  back.  There's  nothing 
to  prevent  him  coming  back.   .   .  ." 

His  e^^es  began  to  wander. 

"  To-morrow." 

She  never  tried  again,  for  fear  the  man  should 
go  out  of  his  mind  on  the  spot.  He  depended  on 
her.  She  seemed  the  only  sensible  person  in  the 
town;  and  he  would  congratulate  himself  frankly 
before  her  face  on  having  secured  such  a  level- 
headed wife  for  his  son.  The  rest  of  the  town,  he 
confided  to  her  once,  in  a  fit  of  temper,  was  certainly 
queer.  The  way  they  looked  at  you — the  way  they 
talked  to  you !  He  had  never  got  on  with  any  one 
in  the  place.  Didn't  like  the  people.  He  would 
not  have  left  liis  own  country  if  it  had  not  been 
clear  that  his  son  had  taken  a  fancy  to  Colebrook. 

She  humoured  him  in  silence,  listening  patiently 
by  the  fence;  crocheting  with  downcast  eyes. 
Blushes  came  with  difficulty  on  her  dead-white 
complexion,  under  the  negligently  twisted  opu- 
lence of  mahogany-coloured  hair.  Her  father  was 
frankly  carroty. 

She  had  a  full  figure ;  a  tired,  unrefreshed  face. 
When  Captain  Hagberd  vaunted  the  necessity  and 
[231] 


TO-MORROW 
propriety  of  a  home  and  the  delights  of  one's  own 
fireside,  she  smiled  a  little,  with  her  lips  only.    Her 
home  delights  had  been  confined  to  the  nursing  of 
her  father  during  the  ten  best  years  of  her  life. 

A  bestial  roaring  coming  out  of  an  upstairs  win- 
dow would  interrupt  their  talk.  She  would  begin 
at  once  to  roll  up  her  crochet-work  or  fold  her  sew- 
ing, without  the  slightest  sign  of  haste.  Mean- 
while the  howls  and  roars  of  her  name  would  go  on, 
making  the  fishermen  strolling  upon  the  sea-wall 
on  the  other  side  of  the  road  turn  their  heads  to- 
wards the  cottages.  She  would  go  in  slowly  at  the 
front  door,  and  a  moment  afterwards  there  would 
fall  a  profound  silence.  Presently  she  would  re- 
appear, leading  by  the  hand  a  man,  gross  and  un- 
wieldy like  a  hippopotamus,  with  a  bad-tempered, 
surly  face. 

He  was  a  widowed  boat-builder,  whom  blindness 
had  overtaken  years  before  in  the  full  flush  of  busi- 
ness. He  behaved  to  his  daughter  as  if  she  had 
been  responsible  for  its  incurable  character.  He 
had  been  heard  to  bellow  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
as  if  to  defy  Heaven,  that  he  did  not  care:  he  had 
wade  enough  money  to  have  ham  and  eggs  for  his 
[232] 


TO-MORROW 

breakfast  every  morning.     He  tlmnkod  God  for  it, 
in  a  fiendish  tone  as  though  he  were  cursing. 

Captain  Hagberd  had  been  so  unfavourably  im- 
pressed by  his  tenant,  that  once  he  told  jNIiss  Bos- 
sie,  "  He  is  a  very  extravagant  fellow,  my  dear." 

She  was  knitting  that  day,  finishing  a  pair  of 
socks  for  her  father,  who  expected  her  to  keep  up 
the  suppl}'  dutifully.  She  hated  knitting,  and,  as 
she  was  just  at  the  heel  part,  she  had  to  keep  her 
eyes  on  her  needles. 

"  Of  course  it  isn't  as  if  he  had  a  son  to  provide 
for,"  Captain  Hagberd  went  on  a  little  vacantly. 
"  Girls,  of  course,  don't  require  so  much — h'm — 
h'm.    They  don't  run  away  from  home,  my  dear." 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Bessie,  quietly. 

Captain  Hagberd,  amongst  the  mounds  of 
turned-up  earth,  chuckled.  With  his  maritime  rig, 
his  weather-beaten  face,  his  beard  of  Father  Nep- 
tune, he  resembled  a  deposed  sea-god  who  had  ex- 
changed the  trident  for  the  spade. 

"  And  he  must  look  upon  you  as  already  pro- 
vided for,  in  a  manner.     That's  the  best  of  it  with 
the  girls.     The  husbands  .  .   ."    He  winked.    Miss 
Bessie,  absorbed  in  her  knitting,  coloured  faintly. 
[233] 


TO-MORROW 

**  Bessie !  my  hat !  "  old  Carvil  bellowed  out  sud- 
denly. He  had  been  sitting  under  the  tree  mute 
and  motionless,  like  an  idol  of  some  remarkably 
monstrous  superstition.  He  never  opened  his 
mouth  but  to  howl  for  her,  at  her,  sometimes  about 
her ;  and  then  he  did  not  moderate  the  terms  of  his 
abuse.  Her  system  was  never  to  answer  him  at  all ; 
and  he  kept  up  his  shouting  till  he  got  attended  to 
— till  she  shook  him  by  the  arm,  or  thrust  the 
mouthpiece  of  his  pipe  between  his  teeth.  He  was 
one  of  the  few  blind  people  who  smoke.  When  he 
felt  the  hat  being  put  on  his  head  he  stopped  his 
noise  at  once.  Then  he  rose,  and  they  passed  to- 
gether through  the  gate. 

He  weighed  heavily  on  her  arm.  During  their 
slow,  toilful  walks  she  appeared  to  be  dragging 
with  her  for  a  penance  the  burden  of  that  infirm 
bulk.  Usually  they  crossed  the  road  at  once  (the 
cottages  stood  in  the  fields  near  the  harbour,  two 
hundred  yards  away  from  the  end  of  the  street), 
and  for  a  long,  long  time  they  would  remain  in 
view,  ascending  imperceptibly  the  flight  of  wooden 
steps  that  led  to  the  top  of  the  sea-wall.  It  ran 
on  from  east  to  west,  shutting  out  the  Channel  like 
[234] 


TO-MORROW 
a  neglected  railway  embankment,  on  vluch  no  train 
had  sver  rolled  Avithin  memory  of  man.  Groups 
of  sturdy  fishermen  would  emerge  upon  the  sky, 
walk  along  for  a  bit,  and  sink  without  haste.  Their 
brown  nets,  like  the  cobwebs  of  gigantic  spiders, 
lay  on  the  shabby  grass  of  the  slope;  and,  looking 
up  from  the  end  of  the  street,  tlie  peojile  of  the 
to^^l  would  recognise  the  two  Carvils  by  the  creep- 
ing slowness  of  their  gait.  Captain  Hagberd,  pot- 
tering aimlessly  about  his  cottages,  would  raise  his 
head  to  see  how  they  got  on  in  their  promenade. 

He  advertised  still  in  the  Sunday  papers  for 
Harry  Hagberd.  These  sheets  were  read  in  for- 
eign parts  to  the  end  of  the  world,  he  informed  Bes- 
sie. At  the  same  time  he  seemed  to  think  that  his 
son  was  in  England — so  near  to  Colcbrook  that  he 
would  of  course  turn  up  "  to-morrow."  Bessie, 
without  committing  herself  to  that  opinion  in  so 
many  words,  argued  that  in  that  case  the  expense 
of  advertising  was  unnecessary ;  Captain  Hagberd 
had  better  spend  that  weekly  half-crown  on  him- 
self. She  declared  she  did  not  know  what  he  lived 
on.  Her  argumentation  would  puzzle  him  and  cast 
[235] 


TO-MORROW 
him  down  for  a  time.  "  They  all  do  it,"  he  pointed 
out.  There  was  a  whole  column  devoted  to  appeals 
after  missing  relatives.  He  would  bring  the  news- 
paper to  show  her.  He  and  his  wife  had  advertised 
for  years ;  only  she  was  an  impatient  woman.  The 
news  from  Colebrook  had  arrived  the  very  day  after 
her  funeral ;  if  she  had  not  been  so  impatient  she 
might  have  been  here  now,  with  no  more  than  one 
day  more  to  wait.  "  You  are  not  an  impatient 
woman,  my  dear." 

"  I've    no    patience    with    you    sometimes,"    she 
would  say. 

If  he  still  advertised  for  his  son  he  did  not  offer 
rewards  for  information  any  more;  for,  with  the 
muddled  lucidity  of  a  mental  derangement  he  had 
reasoned  himself  into  a  conviction  as  clear  as  day- 
light that  he  had  already  attained  all  that  could  be 
expected  in  that  way.  What  more  could  he  want.? 
Colebrook  was  the  place,  and  there  was  no  need  to 
ask  for  more.  Miss  Carvil  praised  him  for  his  good 
sense,  and  he  was  soothed  by  the  part  she  took  in 
his  hope,  which  had  become  his  delusion ;  in  that 
idea  which  blinded  his  mind  to  truth  and  probabil- 
ity, just  as  the  other  old  man  in  the  other  cottage 
[236] 


TO-MORROW 

had  been  made  blind,  by  another  disease,  to  the 
light  and  beauty  of  the  world. 

But  anything  he  could  interpret  as  a  doubt — 
any  coldness  of  assent,  or  even  a  simple  inattention 
to  the  development  of  his  projects  of  a  home  with 
his  returned  son  and  his  son's  wife — would  irritate 
him  into  flings  and  jerks  and  wicked  side  glances. 
He  would  dash  his  spade  into  the  ground  and  walk 
to  and  fro  before  it.  Miss  Bessie  called  it  his  tan- 
trums. She  shook  her  finger  at  him.  Then,  when 
she  came  out  again,  after  he  had  parted  with  her 
in  anger,  he  would  watch  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eyes  for  the  least  sign  of  encouragement  to  ap- 
proach the  iron  railings  and  resume  his  fatherly 
and  patronising  relations. 

For  all  their  intimacy,  wliich  had  lasted  some 
years  now,  they  had  never  talked  without  a  fence 
or  a  railing  between  them.  He  described  to  lier  all 
the  splendours  accumulated  for  the  setting-up  of 
their  housekeeping,  but  had  never  invited  her  to  an 
inspection.  No  human  eye  was  to  behold  them  till 
Harry  had  his  first  look.  In  fact,  nobody  had  ever 
been  inside  his  cottage;  he  did  his  own  housework, 
and  he  guarded  his  son's  privilege  so  jealously  that 
[257] 


TO-MORROW 

the  small  objects  of  domestic  use  he  bought  some- 
times in  the  town  were  smuggled  rapidly  across  the 
front  garden  under  his  canvas  coat.  Then,  coming 
out,  he  would  remark  apologetically,  "  It  was  only 
a  small  kettle,  my  dear." 

And,  if  not  too  tired  with  her  drudgery,  or  wor- 
ried beyond  endurance  by  her  father,  she  would 
laugh  at  him  with  a  blush,  and  say :  "  That's  all 
right.  Captain  Hagberd ;  I  am  not  impatient," 

"  Well,  my  dear,  you  haven't  long  to  wait  now," 
he  would  answer  with  a  sudden  bashfulness,  and 
looking  uneasily,  as  though  he  had  suspected  that 
there  was  something  wrong  somewhere. 

Every  Monday'  she  paid  him  his  rent  over  the 
railings.  He  clutched  the  shillings  greedily.  He 
grudged  every  penny  he  had  to  spend  on  his  main- 
tenance, and  when  he  left  her  to  make  his  purchases 
his  bearing  changed  as  soon  as  he  got  into  the 
street.  Away  from  the  sanction  of  her  pity,  he  felt 
himself  exposed  without  defence.  He  brushed  the 
walls  with  his  shoulder.  He  mistrusted  the  queer- 
ness  of  the  people;  yet,  by  then,  even  the  town 
children  had  left  off  calling  after  him,  and  the 
tradesmen  served  him  without  a  word.  The  slight- 
[238] 


TO-MORROW 

est  allusion  to  his  clothing  had  the  power  to  puzzU 
and  frighten  especially,  as  if  it  were  something 
utterly  unwarranted  and  incomprehensible. 

In  the  autumn,  the  driving  rain  drummed  on  his 
sailcloth  suit  saturated  almost  to  the  stiffness  of 
sheet-iron,  with  its  surface  flowing  with  water. 
When  the  weather  was  too  bad,  he  retreated  under 
the  tiny  porch,  and,  standing  close  against  the 
door,  looked  at  his  spade  left  planted  in  the  middle 
of  the  yard.  The  ground  was  so  much  dug  up  all 
over,  that  as  the  season  advanced  it  turned  to  a 
quagmire.  When  it  froze  hard,  he  was  disconso- 
late. What  would  Harry  say.?  And  as  he  could 
not  have  so  much  of  Bessie's  company  at  that  time 
of  the  year,  the  roars  of  old  Carvil,  that  canie  nmf- 
fled  through  the  closed  windows,  calling  her  in- 
doors, exasperated  him  greatly. 

"  Why  don't  that  extravagant  fellow  get  you  a 
servant.?"  he  asked  impatiently  one  mild  after- 
noon. She  had  thi'own  something  over  her  head  to 
run  out  for  a  while. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  pale  Bessie,  wearily, 
staring  away  with  her  heavy-lidded,  grey,  and  un- 
expectant  glance.  There  were  always  smudgy 
[239] 


TO-MORROW 

shadows  under  her  eyes,  and  she  did  not  seem  able 
to  see  any  change  or  any  end  to  her  life. 

"  You  wait  till  you  get  married,  my  dear,"  said 
her  only  friend,  drawing  closer  to  the  fence. 
"  Harry  will  get  you  one." 

His  hopeful  craze  seemed  to  mock  her  own  want 
of  hope  with  so  bitter  an  aptness  that  in  her  ner- 
vous irritation  she  could  have  screamed  at  him  out- 
right. But  she  only  said  in  self-mockery,  and 
speaking  to  him  as  though  he  had  been  sane, 
"  Wh}^  Captain  Hagberd,  your  son  may  not  even 
want  to  look  at  me." 

He  flung  his  head  back  and  laughed  his  throaty 
affected  cackle  of  anger. 

"  What!  That  boy.?  Not  want  to  look  at  the 
only  sensible  girl  for  miles  around  ?  What  do  you 
think  I  am  here  for,  my  dear — ^my  dear — ni}^  dear.? 
.  .  .  What?  You  wait.  You  just  wait.  You'll 
see  to-morrow.    I'll  soon " 

"  Bessie !  Bessie !  Bessie !  "  howled  old  Carvil  in- 
side. "  Bessie ! — my  pipe !  "  That  fat  blind  man 
had  given  himself  up  to  a  very  lust  of  laziness.  He 
would  not  hft  his  hand  to  reach  for  the  things  she 
took  care  to  leave  at  his  very  elbow.  He  would  not 
[  2^0  ] 


TO-MORROW 

move  a  limb;  he  would  not  rise  from  his  chair,  he 
would  not  put  one  foot  before  another,  in  that  par- 
lour (where  he  knew  his  way  as  well  as  if  he  had  his 
sight),  without  calling  her  to  his  side  and  hanging 
all  his  atrocious  weight  on  her  shoulder.  He  would 
not  eat  one  single  mouthful  of  food  without  her 
close  attendance.  He  had  made  himself  helpless 
beyond  his  affliction,  to  enslave  her  better.  She 
stood  still  for  a  moment,  setting  her  teeth  in  the 
dusk,  then  turned  and  walked  slowly  indoors. 

Captain  Hagberd  went  back  to  his  spade.  The 
shouting  in  Carvil's  cottage  stopped,  and  after  a 
while  the  window  of  the  parlour  downstairs  was  lit 
up.  A  man  coming  from  the  end  of  the  street  with 
a  firm  leisurely  step  passed  on,  but  seemed  to  have 
caught  sight  of  Captain  Hagberd,  because  he 
turned  back  a  pace  or  two.  A  cold  white  light  lin- 
gered in  the  western  sky.  The  man  leaned  over  the 
gate  in  an  interested  manner. 

"  You  must  be  Captain  Hagberd,"  he  said,  with 
easy  assurance. 

The  old  man  spun  round,  pulling  out  his  spade, 
startled  by  the  strange  voice. 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  he  answered  nervously. 
[241] 


TO-MORROW 

The  other,  smiling  straight  at  him,  uttered  very 
slowly :  "  You've  been  advertising  for  your  son,  I 
believe?" 

"  My  son  Harry,"  mumbled  Captain  Hagberd, 
off  his  guard  for  once.  "  He's  coming  home  to- 
morrow." 

"  The  devil  he  is !  "  The  stranger  marvelled 
greatly,  and  then  went  on,  with  only  a  slight 
change  of  tone :  "  You've  grown  a  beard  like 
Father  Christmas  himself." 

Captain  Hagberd  drew  a  little  nearer,  and 
leaned  forward  over  his  spade.  "  Go  your  way," 
he  said,  resentfully  and  timidly  at  the  same  time, 
because  he  was  always  afraid  of  being  laughed  at. 
Every  mental  state,  even  madness,  has  its  equi- 
librium based  upon  self-esteem.  Its  disturbance 
causes  unhappiness;  and  Captain  Hagberd  lived 
amongst  a  scheme  of  settled  notions  which  it  pained 
him  to  feel  disturbed  by  people's  grins.  Yes,  peo- 
ple's grins  were  awful.  They  hinted  at  something 
wrong:  but  what?  He  could  not  tell;  and  that 
stranger  was  obviously  grinning — had  come  on 
purpose  to  grin.  It  was  bad  enough  on  the  streets, 
but  he  had  never  before  been  outraged  like  this. 
[242] 


TO-MORROW 

The  stranger,  unaware  how  near  he  was  of  hav- 
ing his  head  laid  open  with  a  spade,  said  seriously : 
"  I  am  not  trespassing  where  I  stand,  am  I  ?  I 
fancy  there's  something  wrong  about  your  news. 
Suppose  you  let  me  come  in." 

"  You  come  in ! "  murmured  old  Hagberd,  with 
inexpressible  horror. 

"  I  could  give  you  some  real  information  about 
your  son — the  very  latest  tip,  if  you  care  to 
hear." 

"  No,"  shouted  Hagberd.  He  began  to  pace 
wildly  to  and  fro,  he  shouldered  his  spade,  he  ges- 
ticulated with  his  other  arm.  "  Here's  a  fellow — 
a  grinning  fellow,  who  says  there's  something 
wrong.  I've  got  more  information  than  you're 
aware  of.  I've  all  the  information  I  want.  I've 
had  it  .for  years — for  years — for  years — enough 
to  last  me  till  to-morrow.  Let  you  come  in,  indeed ! 
What  would  Harry  say  ?  " 

Bessie  Carvil's  figure  appeared  in  black  silhou- 
ette on  the  parlour  window ;  then,  with  the  sound  of 
an  opening  door,  flitted  out  before  the  other  cot- 
tage, all  black,  but  with  something  white  over 
her  head.  These  two  voices  beginning  to  talk  sud- 
[243] 


TO-MORROW 

denlj  outside  (she  had  heard  them  indoors)  liad 
given  her  such  an  emotion  that  she  could  not  utter 
a  sound. 

Captain  Hagberd  seemed  to  be  trying  to  find  his 
way  out  of  a  cage.  His  feet  squelched  in  the  pud- 
dles left  by  his  industry.  He  stumbled  in  the  holes 
of  the  ruined  grass-plot.  He  ran  blindly  against 
the  fence. 

"  Here,  steady  a  bit !  "  said  the  man  at  the  gate, 
gravely  stretching  his  arm  over  and  catching  him 
by  the  sleeve.  "  Somebody's  been  trj-ing  to  get  at 
3'^ou.  Hallo  !  what's  this  rig  you've  got  on  ?  Storm 
canvas,  by  George ! "  He  had  a  big  laugh. 
"  Well,  you  are  a  character !  " 

Captain  Hagberd  jerked  himself  free,  and  began 
to  back  away  shrinkingly.  "  For  the  present,"  he 
muttered,  in  a  crestfallen  tone. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  liim.^  "  The  stranger 
addressed  Bessie  with  the  utmost  familiarity,  in  a 
deliberate,  explanatory  tone.  "  I  didn't  want  to 
startle  the  old  man."  He  lowered  his  voice  as 
though  he  had  known  her  for  years.  "  I  dropped 
into  a  barber's  on  my  way,  to  get  a  twopenny 
shave,  and  they  told  me  there  he  was  something  of 


TO-MORROW 

a  character.  The  old  man  has  been  a  character  all 
his  hfe." 

Captain  Hagberd,  daunted  by  the  allusion  to  his 
clothing,  had  retreated  inside,  taking  his  spade 
with  him ;  and  the  two  at  the  gate,  startled  by  the 
unexpected  slamming  of  the  door,  heard  the  bolts 
being  shot,  the  snapping  of  the  lock,  and  the  echo 
of  an  affected  gurgling  laugh  within. 

"  I  didn't  want  to  upset  him,"  the  man  said, 
after  a  short  silence.  "  What's  the  meaning  of  all 
this.''    He  isn't  quite  crazy." 

"  He  has  been  worrying  a  long  time  about  his 
lost  son,"  said  Bessie,  in  a  low,  apologetic  tone. 

"  Well,  I  am  his  son." 

"  Harry !  "  she  cried— and  was  profoundly  si- 
lent. 

"Know  my  name?  Friends  with  the  old  man, 
eh.?"     • 

"  He's  our  landlord,"  Bessie  faltered  out,  catch- 
ing hold  of  the  iron  railing. 

"Owns    both    them    rabbit-hutches,    does    he?" 

commented  young  Hagberd,  scornfully';  *' just  the 

thing  he  would  be  proud  of.    Can  you  tell  me  who's 

that   chap   coming   to-morrow?      You   must   know 

[  245  ] 


TO-MORROW 

something  of  it.  I  tell  you,  it's  a  swindle  on  the  old 
man — nothing  else." 

She  did  not  answer,  helpless  before  an  insur- 
mountable difficulty,  appalled  before  the  necessity, 
the  impossibility  and  the  dread  of  an  explanation 
in  which  she  and  madness  seemed  involved  together. 

"  Oh — I  am  so  sorry,"  she  murmured. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  he  said,  with  serenity. 
"  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  upsetting  me.  It's  the 
other  fellow  that'll  be  upset  wh<en  he  least  expects 
it.  I  don't  care  a  hang ;  but  there  will  be  some  fun 
when  he  shows  his  mug  to-morrow,  I  don't  care 
that  for  the  old  man's  pieces,  but  right  is  right. 
You  shall  see  me  put  a  head  on  that  coon — whoever 
he  is!" 

He  had  come  nearer,  and  towered  above  her  on 
the  other  side  of  the  railings.  He  glanced  at  her 
hands.  He  fancied  she  was  trembling,  and  it  oc- 
curred to  him  that  she  had  her  part  perhaps  in  that 
little  game  that  was  to  be  sprung  on  his  old  man 
to-morrow.  He  had  come  just  in  time  to  spoil  their 
sport.  He  was  entertained  by  the  idea — scornful 
of  the  baffled  plot.  But  all  his  life  he  had  been  full 
of  indulgence  for  all  sorts  of  women's  tricks.  She 
[246] 


TO-MORROW 

really  was  trembling  very  much;  her  wrap  had 
slipped  off  her  head.  "  Poor  devil !  "  he  thought. 
"  Never  mind  about  that  chap.  I  daresay  he'll 
change  his  mind  before  to-morrow.  But  what 
about  me  ?  I  can't  loaf  about  the  gate  til  the  morn- 
ing." 

She  burst  out :  "  It  is  you — you  yourself  that  he's 
waiting  for.    It  is  you  who  come  to-morrow." 

He  murmured.  "  Oh !  It's  me !  "  blankly,  and 
they  seemed  to  become  breathless  together.  Ap- 
parently he  was  pondering  over  wli^t  he  had  heard ; 
then,  without  irritation,  but  evidently  perplexed, 
he  said :  "  I  don't  understand.  I  hadn't  written  or 
anytliing.  It's  my  chum  who  saw  the  paper  and 
told  me — this  very  morning.  .  .  .  Eh  ?  what .''  " 

He  bent  his  ear;  she  whispered  rapidly,  and  he 
listened  for  a  while,  muttering  the  words  "  yes  " 
and  "  I  see  "  at  times.  Then,  "  But  why  won't  to- 
day do?  "  he  queried  at  last. 

"You  didn't  understand  me !  "  she  exclaimed, 
impatiently.  The  clear  streak  of  light  under  the 
clouds  died  out  in  the  west.  Again  he  stooped 
slightly  to  hear  better ;  and  the  deep  night  buried 
everything  of  the  whispering  woman  and  the 
[2^7] 


TO-MORROW 

attentive  man,  except  the  familiar  contiguity  of 
their  faces,  with  its  air  of  secrecy  and  caress. 

He  squared  his  shoulders;  the  broad-brimmed 
shadow  of  a  hat  sat  cavalierly  on  his  head.  "  Awk- 
ward tliis,  eh?  "  he  appealed  to  her.  "  To-morrow.' 
Well,  well !  Never  heard  tell  of  anything  like  this. 
It's  all  to-morro\s ,  then,  without  any  sort  of  to-day, 
as  far  as  I  can  see." 

She  remained  still  and  mute. 

"  And  you  have  been  encouraging  tliis  funny 
notion,"  he  said. 

"  I  never  contradicted  him." 

"Why  didn't  you.?" 

"  What  for  should  I .''  "  she  defended  herself. 
"  It  would  only  have  made  him  miserable.  He 
would  have  gone  out  of  his  mind," 

"  His  mind !  "  he  muttered,  and  heard  a  short 
nervous  laugh  from  her. 

"  Where  was  the  harm?  Was  I  to  quarrel  with 
the  poor  old  man?  It  was  easier  to  half  believe  it 
myself." 

"  Aye,   aye,"    he   meditated,   intelligently.      "  I 
suppose  the  old  chap  got  around  you  somehow  with 
his  soft  tidk.     You  are  good-hearted." 
[248] 


T  O  -  U  O  11  H  0  \V 

Her  hands  moved  up  in  the  dark  nervously. 
*'  And  it  might  liave  been  true.  It  was  true.  It 
has  come.  Here  it  is.  This  is  tl^e  to-morrow  we 
have  been  waiting  for." 

Slie  drew  a  breath,  and  he  said,  good-humour- 
edly :  "  Aye,  with  the  door  shut.  I  wouldn't  care 
if  .  .  .  And  you  think  he  could  be  brought  round 
to  recognise  me  .  .  .  Eh,'*  What.''  .  .  .  You 
could  do  it.'*  In  a  week  you  say.f*  H'm,  I  daresay 
you  could — but  do  you  think  I  could  hold  out  a 
week  in  tlxis  dead-alive  place  ?  Not  me !  I  want 
either  hard  work,  or  an  all-fired  racket,  or  more 
space  than  there  Is  in  the  whole  of  England.  I 
have  been  in  this  place,  though,  once  before,  and  for 
more  than  a  week.  The  old  man  was  advertising 
for  me  then,  and  a  chum  I  had  with  me  had  a  no- 
tion of  getting  a  couple  of  quid  out  of  him  by  writ- 
ing a  lot- of  sill}'  nonsense  in  a  letter.  That  lark  did 
not  come  off,  though.  We  had  to  clear  out — and 
none  too  soon.  But  this  time  I've  a  chum  waiting 
for  me  in  London,  and  besides  .  .   ." 

Bessie  Carvii  was  breathing  quickly. 

"  What  If  I  tried  a  knock  at  the  door.?  "  he  sug- 
gested. 

[249] 


TO-MORROW 

**  Try,"  she  said. 

Captain  Hagberd's  gate  squeaked,  and  the  shad- 
ow of  the  son  moved  on,  then  stopped  with  another 
deep  laugh  in  the  throat,  like  the  father's,  only 
soft  and  gentle,  thrilling  to  tlue  woman's  heart, 
awakening  to  her  ears. 

"  He  isn't  frisk}^ — is  he?  I  would  be  afraid  to 
lay  hold  of  him.  The  chaps  are  always  telling  me 
I  don't  know  my  own  strength." 

"  He's  the  most  harmless  creature  that  ever 
lived,"  she  interrupted. 

"  You  wouldn't  say  so  if  you  had  seen  him  chas- 
ing me  upstairs  with  a  hard  leather  strap,"  he  said ; 
"  I  haven't  forgotten  it  in  sixteen  years." 

She  got  warm  from  head  to  foot  under  anothei 
soft,  subdued  laugh.  At  the  rat-tat-tat  of  the 
knocker  her  heart  flew  into  her  mouth. 

"  Hey,  dad !  Let  me  in.  I  am  Harry,  I  am 
Straight !    Come  back  home  a  day  too  soon.'* 

One  of  the  windows  upstairs  ran  up. 

**  A  grinning,  information  fellow,"  said  the  voice 
of  old  Hagberd,  up  in  the  darkness.  "  Don't  you 
have  anything  to  do  with  him.  It  will  spoil  every- 
thing." 

[250] 


TO-MORROW 

Slve  heard  Harry  Hagberd  say,  "  Hallo,  dad," 
then  a  clanging  clatter.  The  window  rumbled 
down,  and  he  stood  before  her  again. 

"  It's  just  like  old  times.  Nearly  walloped  the 
life  out  of  me  to  stop  me  going  a  way,  and  now  I 
come  back  he  throws  a  confounded  shovel  at  my 
head  to  keep  me  out.     It  grazed  my  shoulder." 

She  shuddered. 

*'  I  wouldn't  care,"  he  began,  "  only  I  spent  my 
last  shilling.s  on  the  railwa}'  fare  and  my  last  two- 
pence on  a  shave — out  of  respect  for  the  old  man." 

"  Are  30U  reallj-  Harr^-  Hagberd .'*  "  she  asked. 
**  Can  you  prove  it?  " 

"  Can  I  prove  it.''  Can  any  one  else  prove  it.'*  " 
he  said  jovially.  "  Prove  with  what.?  What  do  I 
want  to  prove?  There  isn't  a  single  corner  in  the 
world,  barring  England,  perhaps,  where  you  could 
not  find  some  man,  or  more  likely  woman,  that 
would  remember  me  for  Harry  Hagberd.  I  am 
more  like  Harry  Hagberd  than  any  man  alive ;  and 
I  can  prove  it  to  you  in  a  minute,  if  you  will  let  me 
»tep  inside  your  gate." 

"  Come  in,"  she  said. 

He  entered  then  the  front  garden  of  the  Carvils. 

r  S51  ] 


TO-MORROW 

His  tall  shadow  strode  with  a  swagger :  she  turned 
her  back  on  the  window  and  waited,  watching  the 
shape,  of  which  the  footfalls  seemed  the  most  mate- 
rial part.  The  light  fell  on  a  tilted  hat ;  a  power- 
ful shoulder,  that  seemed  to  cleave  the  darkness; 
on  a  leg  stepping  out.  He  swung  about  and  stood 
still,  facing  the  illuminated  parlour  window  at  her 
back,  turning  his  head  from  side  to  side,  laugliing 
softly  to  himself. 

"  Just  fancy,  for  a  minute,  the  old  man's  beard 
stuck  on  to  my  chin.  Hey.''  Now  say.  I  was  the 
very  spit  of  him  from  a  boy." 

"  It's  true,"  she  murmured  to  herself, 
'*  And  that's  about  as  far  as  it  goes.  He  was  al- 
ways one  of  your  domestic  characters.  Why,  I  re- 
member how  he  used  to  go  about  looking  very  sick 
for  three  days  before  he  had  to  leave  home  on  one 
of  his  trips  to  South  Shields  for  coal.  He  had  a 
standing  charter  from  the  gas-works.  You  would 
think  li^e  was  off  on  a  whaUng  cruise — three  years 
and  a  tail.  Ha,  ha !  Not  a  bit  of  it.  Ten  days  on 
the  outside.  The  Skiimner  of  the  Seas  was  a  smart 
craft.  Fine  name,  wasn't  it.?  Mother's  uncle 
owned  her.  ..." 

[252] 


TO-MORROW 

He  interrupted  himself,  and  in  a  lowered  voice, 
"  Did  he  ever  tell  you  what  mother  died  of?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Bessie,  bitterly ;  "  from  impa- 
tience." 

He  made  no  sound  for  a  while;  then  brusquely: 
"  They  were  so  afraid  I  would  turn  out  badly  that 
they  fairly  drove  me  away.  Mother  nagged  at  me 
for  being  idle,  and  the  old  man  said  he  would  cut 
ray  soul  out  of  my  body  rather  than  let  me  go  to 
sea.  Well,  it  looked  as  if  he  would  do  it  too — so  I 
went.  It  looks  to  me  sometimes  as  if  I  had  been 
born  to  them  by  a  mistake — in  that  other  hutch  of 
a  house." 

"  Where  ought  you  to  have  been  born  by 
rights.''  "  Bessie  Carvil  interrupted  him,  defiantly. 

"  In  the  open,  upon  a  beach,  on  a  windy  night," 
he  said,  quick  as  lightning.  Then  he  mused  slowly. 
"  They  were  characters,  both  of  them,  by  George; 
and  the  old  man  keeps  it  up  well — don't  he?  A 
damned  shovel  on  the Hark !  who's  that  mak- 
ing that  row  ?  '  Bessie,  Bessie.'  It's  in  youi 
house." 

"  It's  for  me,"  she  said,  with  indifference. 
[263] 


TO-IMORROW 

He  stepped  aside,  out  of  the  streak  of  light. 
**  Your  husband  ?  "  he  inquired,  with  the  tone  of  a 
man  accustomed  to  unlawful  trysts.  "  Fine  voice 
for  a  ship's  deck  in  a  thundering  squaU." 

"  No ;  my  father.     I  am  not  married.'* 

"  You  seem  a  fine  girl,  Miss  Bessie,  dear,"  he  said 
at  once. 

She  turned  her  face  away. 

"Oh,  I  say, — what's  up.?  Who's  murdering 
him.?" 

"  He  wants  his  tea."  She  faced  him,  still  and 
tall,  with  averted  head,  with  her  hands  hanging 
clasped  before  her. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  go  in  ?  "  he  suggested,  after 
watching  for  a  while  the  nape  of  her  neck,  a  patch 
of  dazzling  white  skin  and  soft  shadow  above  the 
tsombre  line  of  her  shoulders.  Her  wrap  had  slipped 
down  to  her  elbows.  "  You'll  have  all  the  town 
coming  out  presently.     I'll  wait  here  a  bit." 

Her  wrap  fell  to  the  ground,  and  he  stooped  to 
pick  it  up ;  she  had  vanished.  He  threw  it  over 
his  arm,  and  approaching  the  window  squarely  he 
saw  a  monstrous  form  of  a  fat  man  in  an  arm- 
chair, an  unshaded  lamp,  the  yawning  of  an  enor- 
[  254.  ] 


TO-MORROW 

mous  mouth  in  a  big  flat  face  encircled  by  a  ragged 
halo  of  hair — Miss  Bessie's  head  and  bust.  The 
shouting  stopped ;  the  blind  ran  down.  He  lost 
himself  in  thinking  how  awkward  it  was.  Father 
mad ;  no  getting  into  the  house.  No  money  to  get 
back ;  a  hungry  chum  in  London  who  would  begin 
to  think  he  had  been  giv*  the  go-by.  "  Damn !  " 
he  muttered.  He  could  break  the  door  in,  cer- 
tainly ;  but  they  would  perhaps  bundle  him  into 
chokey  for  that  without  asking  questions — no  great 
matter,  only  he  was  confoundedly  afraid  of  being 
locked  up,  even  in  mistake.  He  turned  cold  at  the 
thought.  He  stamped  his  feet  on  the  sod- 
den grass. 

"  Wliat  are  you? — a  sailor.?"  said  an  agitated 
voice. 

She  had  flitted  out,  a  shadow  herself,  attracted 
by  the  reckless  shadow  waiting  under  the  wall  of 
her  home. 

"  Anything.  Enough  of  a  sailor  to  be  worth 
my  salt  before  the  mast.  Came  homo  that  way  this 
time." 

"  Where  do  you  come  from?  "  she  asked. 

"  Right  away  from  a  jolly  good  spree,"  he  said, 
1'  255  ] 


TO-MORROW 

"  by  the  London  train — see  ?  Ough  !  I  hate  being 
shut  up  in  a  train.  I  don't  mind  a  house  so 
much." 

"  Ah,"  she  said;  "  that's  lucky." 

"  Because  in  a  house  you  can  at  any  time  open 
the  blamed  door  and  walk  away  straight  before 
you." 

"  And  never  come  back  ?  " 

"  Not  for  sixteen  years  at  least,"  he  laughed. 
"  To  a  rabbit  hutch,  and  get  a  confounded  old 
shovel  .  .  ." 

*'  A  ship  is  not  so  very  big,"  she  taunted. 

"  No,  but  the  sea  is  great." 

She  dropped  her  head,  and  as  if  her  ears  had 
been  opened  to  the  voices  of  the  world,  she  heard, 
beyond  the  rampart  of  sea-wall,  the  swell  of  yester- 
day's gale  breaking  on  the  beach  with  monotonous 
and  solemn  vibrations,  as  if  all  the  earth  had  been 
a  tolling  bell. 

"  And  then,  why,  a  ship's  a  ship.  You  love  her 
and  leave  her ;  and  a  voyage  isn't  a  man'iage."  He 
quoted  the  sailor's  saying  lightly. 

"  It  is  not  a  marriage,"  she  whispered. 

**  I  never  took  a  false  name,  and  I've  never  yet 
[256] 


TO-MORROW 

told  a  lie  to  a  woman.    What  lie  ?    Why,  the  lie . 

Take  me  or  leave  me,  I  say :  and  if  you  take  me, 
then  it  is  .  .  ."  He  hummed  a  snatch,  very  low, 
leaning  against  the  wall. 

Oh,  ho,  ho  Rio  ! 
And  fare  thee  well. 
My  bonnie  young  girl, 
We're  hoimd  to  Rio  Grande. 

"  Capstan  song,"  he  explained.  Her  teeth  chat- 
tered. 

"  You  are  cold,"  he  said.  "  Here's  that  affair 
of  yours  I  picked  up."  She  felt  his  hands  about 
her,  wrapping  her  closely.  "  Hold  the  ends  to- 
gether in  front,"  he  commanded, 

"  What  did  you  come  here  for.''  "  she  asked,  re- 
pressing a  shudder. 

"  Five  quid,"  he  answered,  promptly.  "  We  let 
our  spree  go  on  a  little  too  long  and  got  hard  up." 

"  You've  been  drinking.?  "  she  said. 

"  Blind  three  days ;  on  purpose.  I  am  not  given 
that  way — don't  you  think.  There's  nothing  and 
nobody  that  can  get  over  me  unless  I  like.  I  can 
[257] 


TO-MORROW 

be  as  steadj  as  a  rock.  My  chum  sees  the  paper 
this  morning,  and  says  he  to  me :  *  Go  on,  Harry : 
loving  parent.  That's  five  quid  sure.'  So  we 
scraped  all  our  pockets  for  the  fare.  Devil  of  a 
lark!" 

"  You  have  a  hard  heart,  I  am  afraid,"  she 
sighed. 

"  What  for  ?  For  running  away  ?  Why !  he 
wanted  to  make  a  lawyer's  clerk  of  me — just  to 
please  himself.  Master  in  his  own  house ;  and  my 
poor  mother  egged  him  on — for  my  good,  I  sup- 
pose. Well,  then — so  long;  and  I  went.  No,  I 
tell  you :  the  day  I  cleared  out,  I  was  all  black  and 
blue  from  his  great  fondness  for  me.  Ah!  he  was 
always  a  bit  of  a  character.  Look  at  that  shovel 
now.  Off  his  chump?  Not  much.  That's  just 
exactly  like  my  dad.  He  wants  me  here  just  to 
have  somebody  to  order  about.  However,  we  two 
were  hard  up;  and  what's  five  quid  to  him — once 
in  sixteen  hard  years  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  sorry  for  you.  Did  you  never 
want  to  come  back  home  ?  " 

"  Be  a  lawyer's  clerk  and  rot  here — in  some  such 
place  as  this  ?  "  he  cried  in  contempt.  "  What !  if 
[258] 


TO-MORROW 

the  old  man  set  me  up  in  a  home  to-daj,  I  would 
kick  it  down  about  my  ears — or  else  die  there  be- 
fore the  third  day  was  out." 

"  And  where  else  is  it  that  you  hope  to  die?  " 

"  In  the  bush  somewhere ;  in  the  sea ;  on  a  blamed 
mountain-top  for  choice.  At  home  ?  Yes !  the 
world's  my  home ;  but  I  expect  I'll  die  in  a  hospital 
some  day.  What  of  that?  Any  place  is  good 
enough,  as  long  as  I've  lived ;  and  I've  been  every- 
thing you  can  think  of  almost  but  a  tailor  or  a 
soldier.  I've  been  a  boundary  rider;  I've  sheared 
sheep ;  and  humped  my  swag ;  and  harpooned  a 
whale.  I've  rigged  ships,  and  prospected  for  gold, 
and  skinned  dead  bullocks, — and  turned  my  back 
on  more  money  than  the  old  man  would  have 
scraped  in  his  whole  life.     Ha,  ha !  " 

He  overwhelmed  her.  She  pulled  herself  to- 
gether and  managed  to  utter,  "  Time  to  rest 
now." 

He  straightened  himself  up,  away  from  the  wall, 
and  in  a  severe  voice  said,  "  Time  to  go." 

But  he  did  not  move.  He  leaned  back  again, 
and  hummed  thoughtfully  a  bar  or  two  of  an  out- 
landish tunft. 

[269] 


TO-MORROW 

She  felt  as  if  she  were  about  to  cry.  "  That's 
another  of  your  cruel  songs,"  she  said. 

"  Learned  it  in  Mexico — in  Sonora."  He  talked 
easily.  "  It  is  the  song  of  the  Gambucinos.  You 
don't  know?  The  song  of  restless  men.  Nothing 
could  hold  them  in  one  place — not  even  a  woman. 
You  used  to  meet  one  of  them  now  and  again,  in 
the  old  daj's,  on  the  edge  of  the  gold  countrj^  awa}: 
north  there  beyond  the  Rio  Gila.  I've  seen  it.  A 
prospecting  engineer  in  Mazatlan  took  me  along 
with  him  to  help  look  after  the  waggons.  A 
sailor's  a  handy  chap  to  have  about  you  anyhow. 
It's  all  a  desert:  cracks  in  the  earth  that  you  can't 
see  the  bottom  of;  and  mountains — sheer  rocks 
standing  up  high  like  walls  and  church  spires,  only 
a  hundred  times  bigger.  The  valleys  are  full  of 
boulders  and  black  stones.  There's  not.  a  blade  of 
grass  to  see;  and  the  sun  sets  more  red  over  that 
country  than  I  have  seen  it  anywhere — blood-red 
and  angr}'.     It  is  fine." 

"You  do  not  want  to  go  back  there  again?" 
she  stammered  out. 

He  laughed  a  little.  "  No.  That's  the  blamed 
gold  country.  It  gave  me  the  shivers  sometimes 
[260] 


TO-MORROW 

to  look  at  it — and  we  were  a  big  lot  of  men  together, 
mind ;  but  these  Gambucinos  wandered  alone. 
They  knew  that  country  before  anybod}'  had  ever 
heard  of  it.  They  had  a  sort  of  gift  for  prospect- 
ing, and  the  fever  of  it  was  on  them  too ;  and  they 
did  not  seem  to  want  the  gold  very  much.  They 
would  find  some  rich  spot,  and  then  turn  their  backs 
on  it ;  pick  up  perhaps  a  little — enough  for  a 
spree — and  then  be  off  again,  looking  for  more. 
They  never  stopped  long  where  there  were  houses; 
they  had  no  wife,  no  chick,  no  home,  never  a  chum. 
You  couldn't  be  friends  with  a  Gambucino;  they 
were  too  restless — here  to-day,  and  gone,  God 
knows  where,  to-morrow.  They  told  no  one  of 
their  finds,  and  there  has  never  been  a  Gambucino 
well  off.  It  was  not  for  the  gold  they  cared ;  it  was 
the  wandering  about  looking  for  it  in  the  stony 
country  that  got  into  them  and  wouldn't  let  them 
rest ;  so  that  no  woman  yet  born  could  hold  a  Gam- 
bucino for  more  than  a  week.  That's  what  the 
song  says.  It's  all  about  a  pretty  girl  that  tried 
hard  to  keep  hold  of  a  Gambucino  lover,  so  that  he 
should  bring  her  lots  of  gold.  No  fear!  Off  he 
went,  and  she  never  saw  him  again." 
[261] 


TO-MORROW 

"  What  became  of  her?  "  she  breathed  out. 

"  The  song  don't  tell.  Cried  a  bit,  I  daresay. 
They  were  the  fellows:  kiss  and  go.  But  it's  the 
looking  for  a  thing — a  something  .  .  .  Sometimes 
I  think  I  am  a  sort  of  Gambucino  myself." 

"  No  woman  can  hold  you,  then,"  she  began  in 
a  brazen  voice,  which  quavered  suddenly  before  the 
end. 

"  No  longer  than  a  week,"  he  joked,  playing 
upon  her  very  heartstrings  with  the  gay,  tender 
note  of  his  laugh ;  "  and  yet  I  am  fond  of  them 
all.  Anything  for  a  woman  of  the  right  sort. 
The  scrapes  they  got  me  into,  and  the  scrapes  they 
got  me  out  of!  I  love  them  at  first  sight.  I've 
fallen  in  love  with  you  already,  Miss — Bessie's  your 
name — eh  ?  " 

She  backed  away  a  little,  and  with  a  trembling 
laugh : 

"  You  haven't  seen  my  face  yet." 

He  bent  forward  gallantly.  "  A  little  pale :  it 
suits  some.  But  you  are  a  fine  figure  of  a  girl,  Miss 
Bessie." 

She  was  all  in  a  flutter.  Nobody  had  ever  said 
so  much  to  her  before. 

[262] 


TO-MORROW 

His  tone  changed.  "  I  am  getting  middling 
hungry,  though.  Had  no  breakfast  to-day. 
Couldn't  you  scare  up  some  bread  from  that  tea 
for  me,  or " 

She  was  gone  already.  He  had  been  on  the  point 
of  asking  her  to  let  him  come  inside.  No  matter. 
Anywhere  would  do.  Devil  of  a  fix !  What  would 
his  chum  think.'' 

"  I  didn't  ask  you  as  a  beggar,"  he  said,  jest- 
ingly, taking  a  piece  of  bread-and-butter  from  the 
plate  she  held  before  him.  "I  asked  as  a  friend. 
My  dad  is  rich,  you  know." 

"  He  starves  himself  for  your  sake." 

"  And  I  have  starved  for  his  whim,"  he  said,  tak- 
ing up  another  piece. 

"  All  he  has  in  the  world  is  for  you,"  she 
pleaded. 

"  Yes,  if  I  come  here  to  sit  on  it  like  a  dam'  toad 
in  a  hole.  Thank  you ;  and  what  about  the  shovel, 
eh.''  He  always  had  a  queer  way  of  showing  his 
love." 

"  I  could  bring  him  round  in  a  week,"  she  sug- 
gested, timidly. 

He  was  too  hungry  to  answer  her;  and,  holding 
[263] 


TO-MORROW 

the  plate  submissively  to  his  hand,  she  began  to 
whisper  up  to  him  in  a  quick,  panting  voice.  He 
listened,  amazed,  eating  slower  and  slower,  till  at 
last  his  jaws  stopped  altogether.  "  That's  his 
game,  is  it.''  "  he  said,  in  a  rising  tone  of  scathing 
contempt.  An  ungovernable  movement  of  his  arm 
sent  the  plate  flying  out  of  her  fingers.  He  shot 
out  a  violent  curse. 

She  shrank  from  him,  putting  her  hand  against 
tlie  wall. 

"  No !  "  he  raged.  "  He  expects !  Expects  me 
— for  his  rotten  money !  .  .  .  .  Who  wants  his 
home.^  Mad — not  he!  Don't  you  think.  He 
wants  his  own  way.  He  wanted  to  turn  me  into  a 
miserable  lawyer's  clerk,  and  now  he  wants  to  make 
of  me  a  blamed  tame  rabbit  in  a  cage.  Of  me !  Of 
me !  "  His  subdued  angry  laugh  frightened  her 
now. 

"  The  whole  world  ain't  a  bit  too  big  for  me  to 
spread  my  elbows  in,  I  can  tell  you — what's  your 
name — Bessie — let  alone  a  dam'  parlour  in  a  hutch. 
Marry !  He  wants  me  to  marry  and  settle !  And 
as  likely  as  not  he  has  looked  out  the  girl  too — 
[  264  ] 


TO-MORROW 

dash  my  soul!  And  do  you  know  the  Judy,  may 
I  ask?" 

She  shook  all  over  with  noiseless  dry  sobs;  but 
he  was  fuming  and  fretting  too  much  to  notice  her 
distress.  He  bit  his  thumb  with  rage  at  the  mere 
idea.     A  window  rattled  up. 

"  A  grinning,  information  fellow,"  pronounced 
old  Hagberd  dogmatically,  in  measured  tones. 
And  the  sound  of  his  voice  seemed  to  Bessie  to  make 
the  night  itself  mad — to  pour  insanity  and  dis* 
aster  on  the  earth.  "  Now  I  know  what's  wrong 
with  the  people  here,  my  dear.  Why,  of  course! 
With  this  mad  chap  going  about.  Don't  you  have 
anything  to  do  with  him,  Bessie,     Bessie,  I  say !  " 

They  stood  as  if  dumb.  The  old  man  fidgeted 
and  mumbled  to  himself  at  the  window.  Suddenly 
he  cried,  piercingly :  "  Bessie — I  see  3'ou.  I'll  tell 
Harry.?' 

She  made  a  movement  as  if  to  run  away,  but 
stopped  and  raised  her  hands  to  her  temples. 
Young  Hagberd,  shadowy  and  big,  stirred  no  more 
than  a  man  of  bronze.  Over  their  heads  the  crazy 
night  M  himpered  and  scolded  in  an  old  man's  voice. 
[265] 


TO-MORROW 

"  Send  him  away,  my  dear.  He's  only  a  vaga- 
bond. What  you  want  is  a  good  home  of  your  own. 
That  chap  has  no  home — he's  not  like  Harry.  He 
can't  be  Harry.  Harry  is  coming  to-morrow.  Do 
you  r.ear?  One  day  more,"  he  babbled  more  ex- 
citedl}" ;  "  never  you  fear- — Harry  shall  marry 
you." 

His  voice  rose  very  shrill  and  mad  against  the 
regular  deep  soughing  of  the  swell  coiling  heavily 
about  the  outer  face  of  the  sea-wall. 

"  He  will  have  to.  I  shall  make  him,  or  if  not  " 
— he  swore  a  great  oath — "  I'll  cut  him  off  with  a 
shilling  to-morrow,  and  leave  everj^thing  to  you. 
I  shall.    To  you.     Let  him  starve." 

The  window  rattled  down. 

Harry  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  took  one  step 
toward  Bessie.  "  So  it's  you — the  girl,"  he  said, 
in  a  lowered  voice.  She  had  not  moved,  and  she  re- 
mained half  turned  away  from  him,  pressing  her 
head  in  the  palms  of  her  hands.  "My  word! "  he 
continued,  with  an  invisible  half-smile  on  his  lips. 
**  I  have  a  great  mind  to  stop.  .  .  ." 

Her  elbows  were  trembling  violently. 

"  For  a  week,'*  he  finished  without  a  pause. 
[266] 


TO-MORROW 

She  clapped  her  hands  to  her  face. 

He  came  up  quite  close,  and  took  hold  of  her 
wrists  gently.     She  felt  his  breath  on  her  ear. 

"  It's  a  scrape  I  am  in — tliis,  and  it  is  you  that 
must  see  me  through.'*  He  was  trying  to  uncover 
her  face.  She  resisted.  He  let  her  go  then,  and 
stepping  back  a  little,  "  Have  you  got  any 
money?  "  he  asked.    "  I  must  be  off  now." 

She  nodded  quickly  her  shamefaced  head,  and  he 
waited,  looking  away  from  her,  while,  trembling 
all  over  and  bowing  her  neck,  she  tried  to  find  the 
pocket  of  her  dress. 

"  Here  it  is !  "  she  whispered.  "  Oh,  go  away ! 
go  away  for  God's  sake !  If  I  had  more — more — 
I  would  give  it  all  to  forget — to  make  you  for- 
get." 

He  extended  his  hand.  "No  fear!  I  haven't 
forgotten  a  single  one  of  you  in  the  world.  Some 
gave  me  more  than  money — but  I  am  a  beggar  now 
— and  you  women  always  had  to  get  me  out  of  my 
scrapes." 

He  swaggered  up  to  the  parlour  window,  and  in 
the  dim  light  filtering  through  the  blind,  looked  at 
the  coin  lying  in  hie  palm.    It  was  a  half-sovereign. 

[mi 


TO-MORROW 

He  slipped  it  into  his  pocket.  She  stood  a  little  on 
one  side,  with  her  head  drooping,  as  if  wounded; 
with  her  arms  hanging  passive  by  her  side,  as  if 
dead. 

"  You  can't  buy  me  in,"  he  said,  "  and  you  can't 
buy  yourself  out." 

He  set  his  hat  firmly  with  a  little  tap,  and  next 
moment  she  felt  herself  lifted  up  in  the  powerful 
embrace  of  his  arms.  Her  feet  lost  the  ground; 
her  head  hung  back ;  he  showered  kisses  on  her  face 
with  a  silent  and  over-mastering  ardour,  as  if  in 
haste  to  get  at  her  very  soul.  He  kissed  her  pale 
cheeks,  her  hard  forehead,  her  heavy  ej^elids,  her 
faded  lips;  and  the  measured  blows  and  sighs  of 
the  rising  tide  accompanied  the  enfolding  power 
of  his  arms,  the  over\vhelming  might  of  his  caresses. 
It  was  as  if  the  sea,  breaking  down  the  wall  pro- 
tecting all  the  homes  of  the  town,  had  sent  a  wave 
over  her  head.  It  passed  on ;  she  staggered  back- 
wards, with  her  shoulders  against  the  wall,  ex- 
hausted, as  if  she  had  been  stranded  there  after  a 
storm  and  a  shipwreck. 

She  opened  her  eyes  after  awhile;  and  listening 
to  the  firm,  leisurely  footsteps  going  away  with 
[268] 


TO-MORROW 

their  conquest,  began  to  gather  her  skirts,  staring 
all  the  time  before  her.  Suddenly  she  darted 
through  the  open  gate  into  the  dark  and  deserted 
street. 

"  Stop !  "  she  shouted.     "  Don't  go !  " 

And  listening  with  an  attentive  poise  of  the  head, 
she  could  not  tell  whether  it  was  the  beat  of  the 
swell  or  his  fateful  tread  that  seemed  to  fall  cruelly 
upon  her  heart.  Presently  every  sound  grew 
fainter,  as  though  she  were  slowly  turning  into 
stone.  A  fear  of  this  awful  silence  came  to  her — 
worse  than  the  fear  of  death.  She  called  upon  her 
ebbing  strength  for  the  final  appeal : 

"  Harry !  " 

Not  even  the  dying  echo  of  a  footstep.  Noth- 
ing. The  thundering  of  the  surf,  the  voice  of  the 
restless  sea  itself,  seemed  stopped.  There  was  not 
a  sound — no  whisper  of  life,  as  though  she  were 
alone  and  lost  in  that  stony  country  of  which  she 
had  heard,  where  madmen  go  looking  for  gold  and 
spurn  the  find. 

Captain  Hagberd,  inside  his  dark  house,  had 
kept  on  the  alert.  A  window  ran  up;  and  in  the 
silence  of  the  stony  country  a  voice  spoke  above  her 
[269] 


TO-MORROW 
head,  high  up  in  the  black  air- — the  voice  of  mad- 
ness, lies  and  despair — the  voice  of  inextinguish- 
able hope.     "  Is  he   gone   yet — that  information 
fellow?    Do  you  hear  him  about,  my  dear?  " 

She  burst  into  tears.  "  No !  no !  no !  I  don't 
hear  him  any  more,"  she  sobbed. 

He  began  to  chuckle  up  there  triumphantly. 
"  You  frightened  him  away.  Good  girl.  Now  we 
shall  be  all  right.  Don't  you  be  impatient,  my  dear. 
One  day  more." 

In  the  other  house  old  Carvil,  wallowing  regally 
in  his  arm-chair,  with  a  globe  lamp  burning  by  his 
side  on  the  table,  yelled  for  her,  in  a  fiendish  voice : 
"  Bessie !  Bessie !  you  Bessie !  " 

She  heard  him  at  last,  and,  as  if  overcome  by 
fate,  began  to  totter  silently  back  toward  her  stuffy 
little  inferno  of  a  cottage.  It  had  no  lofty  portal, 
no  terrilic  inscription  of  forfeited  hopes — she  did 
not  understand  wherein  she  had  sinned. 

Captain  Hagberd  had  gradually  worked  himself 
into  a  state  of  noisy  happiness  up  there. 

"  Go  in !  Keep  quiet !  "  she  turned  upon  him 
tearfully,  from  the  doorstep  below. 

He  rebelled  against  her  authority  in  his  great 
[270] 


TO-MORROW 

joy  at  having  got  rid  at  last  of  that  "  something 
wrong."  It  was  as  if  all  the  hopeful  madness  of  the 
world  had  broken  out  to  bring  terror  upon  her 
heart,  with  the  voice  of  that  old  man  shouting  of 
his  trust  in  an  everlasting  to-morrow. 


THE    ENI> 


[371] 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
•ARDEN  CITY,  K.  T. 


/ 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

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